As was typical for my mother, anything worth doing should be done blissfully unaware it was odd. It was a lifelong joke to compare our mother to the antics of the "I Love Lucy" character. This was, for us everyday life. I have since learned this was not so in any home but ours. In this instance a simple dinner out turned into a scene from a comic version of the Godfather. The cause was our mother asking precisely the oddest person to suggest a good restaurant.
I'm in college and at twenty years old safely tucked away fifty miles from home (For New York this is like saying "the other side of the planet") mom was ensconced in the home she had recently and illicitly purchased in White Plains NY. (Yet another story that is best told at another time.) A town we had never even heard of before we went to look at this house.
I was happily frolicking over the fields of Adelphi University in Long Island New York. As I explained it to others in my school, "free at last , free at last, thank god almighty free at last. That part bears explanation. you see I knew I was gay at a very early age and had come to terms with it by the age of thirteen. However I was not in a position to share this revelation at home. Any and all things *homo* were to be tucked out of sight. As I like to call it, I had Straightened up for those at home. The single most significant thing was my being out of the house and able to breathe the fresh gay air.
I loved my mother and the distance between us helped keep that love alive.
At the same time my sister was in school in Purchase NY. Sadly for her she had chosen her school before the move money materialized so when the idea of buying a house came up the sights were set as close to Purchase as possible.
This was not as problematic for her as it would have been for me. You see my mother may have held high standards for the men my sister might like but this was not something I wished to test in reference to me. In other words I had no reason to make my potential sexuality a topic of family chat.
One day in the autumn I get a call from mom. She wanted to take my sister and I out for dinner and a show in Manhattan. Again I have to remind people that this woman never did things small. For example; The previous year she turned the seventy five foot pine tree in front of our house into a permanent Christmas tree. but I digress.
To arrange this day out in the city she contacted a childhood friend of hers who used to get her into all the best clubs and restaurants in Manhattan. In this instance she wanted a family night out so she didnt invite Eddie who turns out to not only have been a member of a crime family but, a highly placed member of that family. She was told by him of a remarkable restaurant on the upper east side called Tre Amici.
That Saturday came and we met at home and got dressed for the dinner and the show. We drove into the city and parked conveniently by the restaurant. We decided to get there early so we could eat then casually stroll past shops on our way across town to the theater. An ambitious goal given this is down town 25 blocks and across to the west side.
We arrive at the massive double doored restaurant with the kind of enormous twist turned brass handles one would imagine was likely to be accompanied by a singing harp and the booming footsteps of someone chanting Fee Fie Foe Fum!
It is now 5:15 or thereabouts and highly unlikely the restaurant is open but we open the door and step inside. Across the floor and up one step behind a wrought iron railing (what is it with indoor wrought iron in Manhattan?) is seated the entire waitstaff at two enormous round tables and a few leaning against the back wall. The tables easily seat ten people. We promptly get ignored. We wait. Finally a lesser level staffer possibly bus boy puts out his cigarette and strolls over to deliver the news that the restaurant is closed until 6 pm.
As all good natured people do, we excused ourselves and exited. We begin to walk away and mom realizes that if we dont eat early we will have to drive around the theater district hunting for parking in the worst time and pay for parking twice so we convince ourselves to return the 40 feet or so to request if they would allow us to eat early.
We get the same bus boy who was not too far away from the castle doors either and mom explains we were recommended by her friend who she names and before finishing the sentence sees this poor boy turn white. A prodigious accomplishment for an olive complected Sicilian. He tells us to stay there and runs to the back where he delivers the news that they just ignored and rejected people who might just get someone in the unenviable position of being the next cinder block in the East River.
Everyone leaps up from the tables and scatter. The head waiter speeds over to us to apologize for the oversight and escorts us through the maze of tables to the one they just vacated. All twenty of the staff had cleaned and set the table in the thirty seconds it took to walk us over. We are seated at what can only be described as triangle formation at a table for ten. Now there are only three chairs and airspace for another two families to join us. This does not happen. Something else entirely occurs. We become a human rendition of a circular tower of waiters. The staff surround us in white jacketed black tux pants and become nothing more than arms looking for all the world like a soft Stonehenge. We never saw any faces because we couldn't bring ourselves to look up for the duration of the dinner.
We couldn't look up, not without laughing out loud. Not that we didnt try. We did try but every time one of us attempted to look up we realized we would be looking directly into the faces of the remarkably well mannered staff that left us standing for 15 minutes and sent us back out into the rain just minutes earlier.
They couldn't do enough to make us happy. We wanted for nothing. If I sipped my water a glass pitcher came over my shoulder and filled it the amount of my sip every time. If my sister saw a spot on her fork and set it back down there came a hand over her shoulder and the fork disappeared. Presumably sent to the spot in the river they hoped would not be their next smoking station. My mother would flick an ash into an ashtray and an ashtray impersonating a lid would come over her shoulder as a protective cover to conceal the offending ash and both of these would also magically dissolve like a witness in a protection program. The next pair of perfectly clean crystal ashtrays would immediately take the place of the original.
This went on through the suggestions of what we might like to eat and the ordering process where we received countless compliments for our excellent insights into the culinary art that somehow seemed to be our achievements. We waited for our appetizers for what seemed an eternity in complete silence. Bless her heart my mother tried to speak but each time she tried to begin a conversation our responses were to quickly tell the answer about our time at school directly to our plate or our napkin covered laps. This went on throughout dinner as well as the payment of the bill where we received complimentary desserts. The desserts were rolled over on a cart and we selected from a host of confections one imagines a Royal or at the very least a Bishop might expect.
We were deadly silent the entire time which is unheard of for us. Dinner out we always laughed and told stories and sharpened our wits but not tonight. Tonight we were mutes with only the ability to order and occasionally giggle in every attempt to look at each other.
We noticed that we had passed the opening time of 6 pm when people began to enter the restaurant. They were left standing at the door raincoats and umbrellas and haggard staring groups who could not fathom why twenty waiters were standing in shoulder to shoulder formation in a circle at the back wall while Manhattans elite stood shivering in the giant doorway to the Italian castle. Time ticked past as if it was being marked off by a shrouded figure carrying a scythe. It is approaching 6:30 and slowly one by one the staff over the next ten or fifteen minutes filtered out to seat people and we tallied up and began debarking from our semi comatose situation comedy dinner.
Our coats are brought to us and each of us was the given assistance in dressing up for the ill mannered rain that clearly did not have the sense to avoid falling on such privileged people as ourselves.
We walked out past the final group of indignant elite and fairly stumbled over ourselves laughing as the doors boomed closed behind us.
Thursday, June 8, 2017
Friday, March 17, 2017
Bill Deneen is a hard one to fully describe. You learned of this man over time. He was a range of types all self possessed and all of his characteristics were unapologetically invested in his interests. He was the kind of man you knew had not faced adversity ever in his life but nonetheless felt the need to challenge his mind and his ability to achieve.
It was the first time I had visited Terry in Vermont that I encountered Bill. He was a sharp minded quick witted elitist who had a long family line of which you would never have known from casual conversation. No, you had to know him long enough and well enough to be invited to his home in Manhattan to learn of the lineage. Even then it was not intentional. It was entirely by accident and only with keen observation would you connect the face on the man with the face on the life sized ancestral portrait hung in the Dining room. The lean body and the aquiline features were unmistakable. I am moving in time to the year after I first met Bill to another time I was to go to visit Terry. Arrangements had been made to meet Bill in his manhattan apartment. I was greeted at the door and knew from Joe's description of the place that it was a large and rambling apartment with an office hidden in the far back of the apartment by the master bedroom. I never saw that part of the apartment but I did know of the overall setting. I stepped off of the elevator into a Chinese Red front gallery. The Mahogany furniture was unmistakably 18th century English and the similar age french mirror showed off the Shang Dynasty bronze wine ewer set in the center of the front table next to a Chinese urn shaped vase with long sleek orchids leaning over the ewer as if peeking inside.
I was guided into the front room from which you could see into the Dining room to the left replete with exceptional furnishings and ancestral portrait of a man who looked as if he could have been a slightly different version of Bill in blue satin and white ruffles typical of the 1750's Right down to the blue satin shoes. This surprised me but had not taken me too far off my expectations. After all I knew this was a man of extreme successes both financial and physical. Why would it surprise me to learn he came by it through a line of achieved predecessors. Off to the right was Mark the artist. I call him that because it is the only thing that was ever of any importance to this guy. He was a shaggy curly brunette standing all of five foot seven at his tallest and covered in paint all over his sweatshirt as well as jeans intentionally painted to resemble the Emerald City. His red sneakers completed the look. He sat on a spectacular and clearly prized brocade settee with his feet tucked up under him looking for all the world like a bohemian genie who had just popped into this otherwise stately scene. He couldn't have been more incongruous if he had shown up dressed as a mop. Bill introduces us and as part of the exposition and arrangements being made to fill us both in on the logistics of the trip up to Vermont explains we were waiting for Denny. Mark had no idea who Denny was. Terry knew Mark from a gallery showing in Greenwich village and had extended the invitation to come visit. Bill had graciously offered to drive the rest of us up. I had never even had a drivers licence much less a car. I didn't need one since my life was centered in Manhattan where a car was a luxury only the uber rich could manage. Mark had barely heard there was a state called Vermont much less identify a means of travel and Denny would have had to drive a Rolls Royce Silver Wraith (his only car) the several hundred miles to visit Terry. So it was set for us to go along with Bill as the driver by default and grace.
As we are sitting waiting for Denny to arrive Bill explains the tenderness of a recent development. It was just after the release date of the Andy Warhol Diaries. Bill and I were well aware of Andy's lesser nature. He had a fascination with cruelty. He enjoyed finding the nicest people or the most innocent and after leading them on to trust him would find ways to degrade or humiliate them. He had one saving grace. He passed away before doing published damage to others. However in this case he had written down many insults, dismissals and outright cruel commentary in his diaries that were a twisting of other peoples lives in order to paint an ugly picture of the best people I had ever known. Denny was one of those victims. Denny was Andy's physician and was in constant contact. Bill was filling us in on what he knew had been published. Bill knew the publishers and had a pre release copy and in it realized Andy had eviscerated Denny. bill also know Denny's voracious appetite for reading and the day after the release was that week. Denny had bought both diaries and had read them both in a day or two. It took all Bill could do to convince Denny to come with us to Vermont. Bill had a remarkable talent to encourage others. He had used these skills as a producer for many years and also as a film director. He found ways to draw people out of their shells and made them see the positive side of everything. It was this talent and the time invested that got him to bring Denny around. To that end he had filled us in on the books and cautioned us not to even casually bring up Andy in the 5 plus hour trip. This was a gift he had. He could maintain a conversation and guide it so as to skim away from the rough patches and still somehow always have some new story or direction to turn a conversation. Upon Denny's arrival he called down to the Doorman who had Bills car brought around to the front and we all went off to pile in and begin the trek straight up park avenue.
Not one half hour into the trip Denny took hold of the conversation and intentionally guided it to bring out the Elephant in the car as he called it. The look in Bills face was predictably taught and guarded. You could see his plan of distraction begin to form in his mind as he let Denny draw his inner bodhisattva out in relation to the entire mess. The relief in Bills face could almost be heard. From my vantage point in the rear passenger seat I got a side view and a rear view mirror view of him and the relaxation flowed out of him like it was finally a true get away from the stresses of city life. He had as close to a true smile as I can recall him displaying. This was a man who was almost predatory in his ability to focus on any thing. He never got lost, never strayed, never lost focus and because of this single mindedness rarely threw a smile in that didn't look premeditated.
The drive up went through a series of landmark topics ranging from Fine art to reincarnation optional outlooks. It was a cornucopia of subjects and it kept us from having a single patch of quiet time the full five and a half hours.
We pulled into the "farm" or as humans would call it, the country estate and loaded into the all too familiar selection of bedrooms. I stop this here because it details a time a full year after the initial meeting with Bill and Denny. I would like to return to that time a year earlier so as to more accurately place all the pieces in their proper place. Joe was alive, Stacy had recently passed and Terry had met someone new of whom he spoke that weekend for the first time. Denny was in a happier place and Bill was an entirely new thing to me. Charles was there making plays for anyone he saw as a potentially wealthy target. Bill was still someone who I would get to know over that four day weekend. It would be cheating them of the initial way they spoke, walked, behaved and of their banquet buffet of interests explored that weekend to go any further and skip that inspired weekend .
For the here and now I can say this was weekend was one on which i was on a learning curve to become the person who was no longer in on a pass. These were sincere, intelligent, well mannered respected people on a social and financial level I had only ever glimpsed before. Now they surrounded me and there was no superficiality, shallowness or any of the popularized flaws commonly depicted when the entertainment machine tries to put these types in the camera lens. This was a true world which hadn't been seen outside of novels or historical dramas. In the present, in this place I saw prominent men in their natural habitat. I was in a world of quiet good taste and investment in the one thing the wealthy have time to explore. Their own self improvement and the encouragement of others. This was true aristocracy. The refinement of others and ones self by making room for others to learn and grow. For this I will always be grateful and because of these people I will always make the effort to bring the worthy up from the masses. I was taught well and will teach others well as my debt to those who have gone before me requires.
It was the first time I had visited Terry in Vermont that I encountered Bill. He was a sharp minded quick witted elitist who had a long family line of which you would never have known from casual conversation. No, you had to know him long enough and well enough to be invited to his home in Manhattan to learn of the lineage. Even then it was not intentional. It was entirely by accident and only with keen observation would you connect the face on the man with the face on the life sized ancestral portrait hung in the Dining room. The lean body and the aquiline features were unmistakable. I am moving in time to the year after I first met Bill to another time I was to go to visit Terry. Arrangements had been made to meet Bill in his manhattan apartment. I was greeted at the door and knew from Joe's description of the place that it was a large and rambling apartment with an office hidden in the far back of the apartment by the master bedroom. I never saw that part of the apartment but I did know of the overall setting. I stepped off of the elevator into a Chinese Red front gallery. The Mahogany furniture was unmistakably 18th century English and the similar age french mirror showed off the Shang Dynasty bronze wine ewer set in the center of the front table next to a Chinese urn shaped vase with long sleek orchids leaning over the ewer as if peeking inside.
I was guided into the front room from which you could see into the Dining room to the left replete with exceptional furnishings and ancestral portrait of a man who looked as if he could have been a slightly different version of Bill in blue satin and white ruffles typical of the 1750's Right down to the blue satin shoes. This surprised me but had not taken me too far off my expectations. After all I knew this was a man of extreme successes both financial and physical. Why would it surprise me to learn he came by it through a line of achieved predecessors. Off to the right was Mark the artist. I call him that because it is the only thing that was ever of any importance to this guy. He was a shaggy curly brunette standing all of five foot seven at his tallest and covered in paint all over his sweatshirt as well as jeans intentionally painted to resemble the Emerald City. His red sneakers completed the look. He sat on a spectacular and clearly prized brocade settee with his feet tucked up under him looking for all the world like a bohemian genie who had just popped into this otherwise stately scene. He couldn't have been more incongruous if he had shown up dressed as a mop. Bill introduces us and as part of the exposition and arrangements being made to fill us both in on the logistics of the trip up to Vermont explains we were waiting for Denny. Mark had no idea who Denny was. Terry knew Mark from a gallery showing in Greenwich village and had extended the invitation to come visit. Bill had graciously offered to drive the rest of us up. I had never even had a drivers licence much less a car. I didn't need one since my life was centered in Manhattan where a car was a luxury only the uber rich could manage. Mark had barely heard there was a state called Vermont much less identify a means of travel and Denny would have had to drive a Rolls Royce Silver Wraith (his only car) the several hundred miles to visit Terry. So it was set for us to go along with Bill as the driver by default and grace.
As we are sitting waiting for Denny to arrive Bill explains the tenderness of a recent development. It was just after the release date of the Andy Warhol Diaries. Bill and I were well aware of Andy's lesser nature. He had a fascination with cruelty. He enjoyed finding the nicest people or the most innocent and after leading them on to trust him would find ways to degrade or humiliate them. He had one saving grace. He passed away before doing published damage to others. However in this case he had written down many insults, dismissals and outright cruel commentary in his diaries that were a twisting of other peoples lives in order to paint an ugly picture of the best people I had ever known. Denny was one of those victims. Denny was Andy's physician and was in constant contact. Bill was filling us in on what he knew had been published. Bill knew the publishers and had a pre release copy and in it realized Andy had eviscerated Denny. bill also know Denny's voracious appetite for reading and the day after the release was that week. Denny had bought both diaries and had read them both in a day or two. It took all Bill could do to convince Denny to come with us to Vermont. Bill had a remarkable talent to encourage others. He had used these skills as a producer for many years and also as a film director. He found ways to draw people out of their shells and made them see the positive side of everything. It was this talent and the time invested that got him to bring Denny around. To that end he had filled us in on the books and cautioned us not to even casually bring up Andy in the 5 plus hour trip. This was a gift he had. He could maintain a conversation and guide it so as to skim away from the rough patches and still somehow always have some new story or direction to turn a conversation. Upon Denny's arrival he called down to the Doorman who had Bills car brought around to the front and we all went off to pile in and begin the trek straight up park avenue.
Not one half hour into the trip Denny took hold of the conversation and intentionally guided it to bring out the Elephant in the car as he called it. The look in Bills face was predictably taught and guarded. You could see his plan of distraction begin to form in his mind as he let Denny draw his inner bodhisattva out in relation to the entire mess. The relief in Bills face could almost be heard. From my vantage point in the rear passenger seat I got a side view and a rear view mirror view of him and the relaxation flowed out of him like it was finally a true get away from the stresses of city life. He had as close to a true smile as I can recall him displaying. This was a man who was almost predatory in his ability to focus on any thing. He never got lost, never strayed, never lost focus and because of this single mindedness rarely threw a smile in that didn't look premeditated.
The drive up went through a series of landmark topics ranging from Fine art to reincarnation optional outlooks. It was a cornucopia of subjects and it kept us from having a single patch of quiet time the full five and a half hours.
We pulled into the "farm" or as humans would call it, the country estate and loaded into the all too familiar selection of bedrooms. I stop this here because it details a time a full year after the initial meeting with Bill and Denny. I would like to return to that time a year earlier so as to more accurately place all the pieces in their proper place. Joe was alive, Stacy had recently passed and Terry had met someone new of whom he spoke that weekend for the first time. Denny was in a happier place and Bill was an entirely new thing to me. Charles was there making plays for anyone he saw as a potentially wealthy target. Bill was still someone who I would get to know over that four day weekend. It would be cheating them of the initial way they spoke, walked, behaved and of their banquet buffet of interests explored that weekend to go any further and skip that inspired weekend .
For the here and now I can say this was weekend was one on which i was on a learning curve to become the person who was no longer in on a pass. These were sincere, intelligent, well mannered respected people on a social and financial level I had only ever glimpsed before. Now they surrounded me and there was no superficiality, shallowness or any of the popularized flaws commonly depicted when the entertainment machine tries to put these types in the camera lens. This was a true world which hadn't been seen outside of novels or historical dramas. In the present, in this place I saw prominent men in their natural habitat. I was in a world of quiet good taste and investment in the one thing the wealthy have time to explore. Their own self improvement and the encouragement of others. This was true aristocracy. The refinement of others and ones self by making room for others to learn and grow. For this I will always be grateful and because of these people I will always make the effort to bring the worthy up from the masses. I was taught well and will teach others well as my debt to those who have gone before me requires.
Thursday, March 16, 2017
Doctor Denny Cox arrived with Bill Deneen. They had driven up from Manhattan together. We met at Terry Gallowhurs' place in Vermont. It was a place of ethereal dreams to an impressionable mind. Here was an aristocratic man in a park like setting strolling around a mansion of Dynastic proportions. I had been young and inexperienced enough to do something I had never thought since was appropriate. I began counting the rooms. When I reached thirty I stopped counting. It had dawned on me that the numbers didn't do either the place or the people justice. I put away my curiosity about the superficial and opened up to the character of the people I was beginning to meet. Years later it was put best when encountering some self impressed people. The response to their value being set in their property was something I have said this to ever since. Don't tell me what you have, that doesn't impress me. Tell me who you are and if you are impressive it will show.
This is where I come back to Doctor Denny Cox. He was a curious middle ground. He was non descript and unassuming. He was of middle height, middle weight, middle age and middle demeanor. He would easily be overlooked at an event but would be the lynchpin who was the connection of every person of fame, wealth or power. You would never know of the mind of this man who would never brag but couldn't avoid being the one at an event of global fame. He was the party goer no one recognized but was always with the household names. He was Denny, polite to a fault, quiet as a drifting screen door and deep as an ocean. This is not the man who would be of any power himself, nor was he a hanger on. He was the one the famous wanted around them and in many cases had to have around them. They relied on him as friend, confidant and physician. He was the one they felt had their best interests at heart and as such was in a minority, was a rare thing and was cherished by most for it.
He and Bill came in and were a strange thing that I hadn't realized at first. What Denny was Bill wasn't and the same in reverse. Yet they fit together. Not as a couple but as lifelong companions. They knew and understood each other. It was like watching a true to life Waiting For Godot play out in front of me. As the story progresses in the play you ultimately realize the nothing conversations the two leads only ever partially discuss was a display of evolution of a friendship. It was done as a show for an audience. Godot was helping us so we would have an insight as to what goes on when two people who completely knew each other went about their daily habits. They didn't need to make the point clearly for each other. The other always knew what the first was going to say. The responses would be segments only because the segment that was said was the only part that was different from the previous days response. This was how these two fit together. They knew each other, at least on the day to day level. They knew the borders of their friendship and respected they were dramatically different. I would venture to say they were diametrically different. Where Denny was quiet Bill was loud. Denny's self effacing nature was countered by Bills stand out front nature. Not that Bill only ever stood out front for himself. He was quite capable of that but had tired of only ever championing his own interests. He also took that role for Denny. Where Denny would avoid a point Bill would break the ice for him. It was a heart warming thing to see the two relate so differently but put into behavior how there was mutual respect. There was an unspoken support they offered to each other and I learned over that weekend and over others that it was prominent in this type of group to be a safety net for each other. Where any one person may have had a weakness the other or others or even an entire group would step in and make up the difference. That was their true nobility. They protected each other from the soft or weak spots in their collective. It had the effect of binding disparate people together. When you were a part of the group you were safe and if you didn't realize it directly you would find that at your weakest moment someone would save you. No one went unnoticed or devalued or diminished in any way. They showed you how much you meant as a person and it is a benchmark I look for to this day. People who live with others as a primary concern.
So Terry Joe and I hear the brass bell ring out over the valley and we, as a conversational group head for the door following Terry. In front is of course Bill Deneen. A seventy three year old man with his twenty three year old "protege" Charles. There is little reason to discuss Charles but for now Denny and Bill are the focus. Bill is a tall, lean strongly self aware man in his manner, dress, comportment and attitude. You know immediately upon meeting this man that he had never once had trouble getting through anything in life. Introductions are made and we greeted Bill first then Denny then Charles. For all intents and purposes Charles will remain an insignificant person in my story. He may in some way or some place be more worthy but on this occasion he made it onto my bad side. A difficult thing to achieve so to be fair he will remain where he placed himself. On the periphery which is where he normally would have been had Bill not taken a liking to him. Charles proved himself as not deserving of Bills attention several times that weekend and the next time I saw Bill, Charles was no where to be found or even mentioned for that matter. It seemed in a matter of months he had proven to Bill that generosity had been wasted on him. I had reason to bring it to others attention but it wasn't my place to do so and a social weekend was not the time to say it. Seems I hadn't had to anyway. He worked his way in, confirmed to Bill that he didn't belong and was quietly worked back out. That's the thing about being in on a pass. If you deserve to be there they make it clear. If you don't deserve their support they handle it discreetly.
Bill and Charles are given one of the rooms on the second floor of the tower. The top of the tower was Joe and I and the other tower bedroom was reserved for someone who turned out couldn't make it. Denny had, as was standard, the reading room suite. This was the arm of rooms opposite the front door, that wing that reaches out and away from the tower. As we were bringing Denny into his room Terry takes the opportunity to show us that section of the house. The front door opens to a reading room library. It had a few built in shelves with strategically placed chairs and candle stand tables. It was the repository of all the books brought in for the summer season. Terry made sure this room was well stocked with ever changing reading material for a very good reason. Many of his friends would spend their free time reading and magazines were not of much merit to these people. They preferred to learn or explore when they read. Each weekend from April to September Terry would have guests up from Thursday to Monday and each of those weekends he could rely on at least one of these people to be an avid reader. This was Denny's room. He was a consummate reader. He would come to breakfast each morning with stories to tell from the book or books he read before going to sleep. He offered pleasant stories from suitors in Venice in a turn of the century novel or a mystery if epic proportions that traveled the globe. Breakfast was always a joy in this house. Breakfast itself was a set out buffet in the yellow room dedicated to people meandering in and casually discussing all sorts of things. The seating in this room was wrapped around the room on built in benches placed under Meissen dishes decorating the walls. We would sit and exchange all sorts of pleasant stories over the course of an hour to two hours. While we were at breakfast learning of a new development in surgery or a new flavor the guys came up for their ice cream company Mary would surreptitiously go to around the house and make up the room for us. I never actually saw her go into the rooms or come out but magically this amazing woman would be up before everyone and set up three meals a day for a dozen people, make up our rooms and do cleaning and laundry without ever being noticed. She was a charming woman I admire to this day. She spoke eloquently and well of everyone. She was hale and hearty even into her seventies which is when I first met her.
Denny would take the breakfast time to share his insights and we would each put what we might know of Rangoon, the setting of his overnight read or of the gem industry which would be at the heart of the mystery. We would see the travels of the couple who had their child to find or the delivery to track and each of his depictions would come to life for us. He never commanded an audience. These were chats. We each knew we could add to the story simply by knowing something of the back streets of Rangoon or the way to quantify a gem. We became conspirators in these books he had read. We were a gang of traveling detectives drawn along by our breakfast Sherpa.
Denny was charming but in a subtle way. You didn't feel put upon by him. He would share on rare occasion and it was a special experience when he would open up. Having opened up you might accidentally learn of his history as a student or how his first medical patient was Judy Garland. These things would just be part of his life so it wasn't him throwing a name in to fill an empty space. He would be speaking of how he learned what causes of an illness brought him to the forefront of a field and if his patient connected to it was a star then the name had to be part of the story. It was always on the fringe of his conversations. Like the color of a painted dresser. It was the dresser that was important and how it was built, why it existed and what function it served. The color just was part of the description and would be incomplete had it been omitted. In this way I learned that brilliance did not have to be connected to arrogance or self importance. It could just as easily be the outcropping of a mind that never wanted to stop exploring. It was his humility that stuck out for me. That being said Denny had one flaw. He was overcautious. Not to the extent that he would always be safe from the harshness of the world. It was tragic that his over cautiousness was applied in many ways but not overriding in his life. He had been seen in the company of too many stars and in the opening events of too many covered spotlights. For that reason he had to be on his guard if he thought someone was after him for his connections to others. To keep people from using him he set up elaborate precautions like an answering service. He would only ever give out his answering service number to new people. All subsequent calls would be written down and then he would call in at the end of each day to get messages read to him. He then chose who to call and who to leave alone. He was not always good at judging the people he would select to call back. That was his downfall for many people. He would be called on this as bad behavior by others in the group. Not denigrated but told who hadn't deserved his aloofness. He would apologize but rarely would people contact him and give him the opportunity to make the wrong choice a second time. His timidity was his one flaw and it kept him separate and more often than not alone while everyone around him shared their lives with partners.
This was the tragic thing in his life. He had no idea he had made himself alone so he had no idea how to keep from feeling lonely. In those lonely times he took risks he shouldn't have taken. He would bring into his home people who helped him assuage his loneliness but had no personal connection to him. They therefore had no reason to see him as anything but a source of money. There were none of us in the position to protect him from this weakness. So in this regard he took the greatest risks and had the least protections when it finally came about that someone with a grudge and no morals took Denny from us. Most of us had all ready passed on or moved on. Denny, Bill and I were among the few still here and Bill was far to old to have been able to make a difference. I was three thousand miles away. Terry had passed and Joe was long gone. Denny was alone. I wish he had kept in touch with me. I would have been there for him when he needed support. He chose an artist who had an evil heart, mind and plan. It was a long and painful passing of which I only read in an article after the fact. It is not what he should be remembered for and for that reason I wanted to tell the world of a brilliant beautiful soul who had the humility of a novitiate and the genius of a world class surgeon.
This is where I come back to Doctor Denny Cox. He was a curious middle ground. He was non descript and unassuming. He was of middle height, middle weight, middle age and middle demeanor. He would easily be overlooked at an event but would be the lynchpin who was the connection of every person of fame, wealth or power. You would never know of the mind of this man who would never brag but couldn't avoid being the one at an event of global fame. He was the party goer no one recognized but was always with the household names. He was Denny, polite to a fault, quiet as a drifting screen door and deep as an ocean. This is not the man who would be of any power himself, nor was he a hanger on. He was the one the famous wanted around them and in many cases had to have around them. They relied on him as friend, confidant and physician. He was the one they felt had their best interests at heart and as such was in a minority, was a rare thing and was cherished by most for it.
He and Bill came in and were a strange thing that I hadn't realized at first. What Denny was Bill wasn't and the same in reverse. Yet they fit together. Not as a couple but as lifelong companions. They knew and understood each other. It was like watching a true to life Waiting For Godot play out in front of me. As the story progresses in the play you ultimately realize the nothing conversations the two leads only ever partially discuss was a display of evolution of a friendship. It was done as a show for an audience. Godot was helping us so we would have an insight as to what goes on when two people who completely knew each other went about their daily habits. They didn't need to make the point clearly for each other. The other always knew what the first was going to say. The responses would be segments only because the segment that was said was the only part that was different from the previous days response. This was how these two fit together. They knew each other, at least on the day to day level. They knew the borders of their friendship and respected they were dramatically different. I would venture to say they were diametrically different. Where Denny was quiet Bill was loud. Denny's self effacing nature was countered by Bills stand out front nature. Not that Bill only ever stood out front for himself. He was quite capable of that but had tired of only ever championing his own interests. He also took that role for Denny. Where Denny would avoid a point Bill would break the ice for him. It was a heart warming thing to see the two relate so differently but put into behavior how there was mutual respect. There was an unspoken support they offered to each other and I learned over that weekend and over others that it was prominent in this type of group to be a safety net for each other. Where any one person may have had a weakness the other or others or even an entire group would step in and make up the difference. That was their true nobility. They protected each other from the soft or weak spots in their collective. It had the effect of binding disparate people together. When you were a part of the group you were safe and if you didn't realize it directly you would find that at your weakest moment someone would save you. No one went unnoticed or devalued or diminished in any way. They showed you how much you meant as a person and it is a benchmark I look for to this day. People who live with others as a primary concern.
So Terry Joe and I hear the brass bell ring out over the valley and we, as a conversational group head for the door following Terry. In front is of course Bill Deneen. A seventy three year old man with his twenty three year old "protege" Charles. There is little reason to discuss Charles but for now Denny and Bill are the focus. Bill is a tall, lean strongly self aware man in his manner, dress, comportment and attitude. You know immediately upon meeting this man that he had never once had trouble getting through anything in life. Introductions are made and we greeted Bill first then Denny then Charles. For all intents and purposes Charles will remain an insignificant person in my story. He may in some way or some place be more worthy but on this occasion he made it onto my bad side. A difficult thing to achieve so to be fair he will remain where he placed himself. On the periphery which is where he normally would have been had Bill not taken a liking to him. Charles proved himself as not deserving of Bills attention several times that weekend and the next time I saw Bill, Charles was no where to be found or even mentioned for that matter. It seemed in a matter of months he had proven to Bill that generosity had been wasted on him. I had reason to bring it to others attention but it wasn't my place to do so and a social weekend was not the time to say it. Seems I hadn't had to anyway. He worked his way in, confirmed to Bill that he didn't belong and was quietly worked back out. That's the thing about being in on a pass. If you deserve to be there they make it clear. If you don't deserve their support they handle it discreetly.
Bill and Charles are given one of the rooms on the second floor of the tower. The top of the tower was Joe and I and the other tower bedroom was reserved for someone who turned out couldn't make it. Denny had, as was standard, the reading room suite. This was the arm of rooms opposite the front door, that wing that reaches out and away from the tower. As we were bringing Denny into his room Terry takes the opportunity to show us that section of the house. The front door opens to a reading room library. It had a few built in shelves with strategically placed chairs and candle stand tables. It was the repository of all the books brought in for the summer season. Terry made sure this room was well stocked with ever changing reading material for a very good reason. Many of his friends would spend their free time reading and magazines were not of much merit to these people. They preferred to learn or explore when they read. Each weekend from April to September Terry would have guests up from Thursday to Monday and each of those weekends he could rely on at least one of these people to be an avid reader. This was Denny's room. He was a consummate reader. He would come to breakfast each morning with stories to tell from the book or books he read before going to sleep. He offered pleasant stories from suitors in Venice in a turn of the century novel or a mystery if epic proportions that traveled the globe. Breakfast was always a joy in this house. Breakfast itself was a set out buffet in the yellow room dedicated to people meandering in and casually discussing all sorts of things. The seating in this room was wrapped around the room on built in benches placed under Meissen dishes decorating the walls. We would sit and exchange all sorts of pleasant stories over the course of an hour to two hours. While we were at breakfast learning of a new development in surgery or a new flavor the guys came up for their ice cream company Mary would surreptitiously go to around the house and make up the room for us. I never actually saw her go into the rooms or come out but magically this amazing woman would be up before everyone and set up three meals a day for a dozen people, make up our rooms and do cleaning and laundry without ever being noticed. She was a charming woman I admire to this day. She spoke eloquently and well of everyone. She was hale and hearty even into her seventies which is when I first met her.
Denny would take the breakfast time to share his insights and we would each put what we might know of Rangoon, the setting of his overnight read or of the gem industry which would be at the heart of the mystery. We would see the travels of the couple who had their child to find or the delivery to track and each of his depictions would come to life for us. He never commanded an audience. These were chats. We each knew we could add to the story simply by knowing something of the back streets of Rangoon or the way to quantify a gem. We became conspirators in these books he had read. We were a gang of traveling detectives drawn along by our breakfast Sherpa.
Denny was charming but in a subtle way. You didn't feel put upon by him. He would share on rare occasion and it was a special experience when he would open up. Having opened up you might accidentally learn of his history as a student or how his first medical patient was Judy Garland. These things would just be part of his life so it wasn't him throwing a name in to fill an empty space. He would be speaking of how he learned what causes of an illness brought him to the forefront of a field and if his patient connected to it was a star then the name had to be part of the story. It was always on the fringe of his conversations. Like the color of a painted dresser. It was the dresser that was important and how it was built, why it existed and what function it served. The color just was part of the description and would be incomplete had it been omitted. In this way I learned that brilliance did not have to be connected to arrogance or self importance. It could just as easily be the outcropping of a mind that never wanted to stop exploring. It was his humility that stuck out for me. That being said Denny had one flaw. He was overcautious. Not to the extent that he would always be safe from the harshness of the world. It was tragic that his over cautiousness was applied in many ways but not overriding in his life. He had been seen in the company of too many stars and in the opening events of too many covered spotlights. For that reason he had to be on his guard if he thought someone was after him for his connections to others. To keep people from using him he set up elaborate precautions like an answering service. He would only ever give out his answering service number to new people. All subsequent calls would be written down and then he would call in at the end of each day to get messages read to him. He then chose who to call and who to leave alone. He was not always good at judging the people he would select to call back. That was his downfall for many people. He would be called on this as bad behavior by others in the group. Not denigrated but told who hadn't deserved his aloofness. He would apologize but rarely would people contact him and give him the opportunity to make the wrong choice a second time. His timidity was his one flaw and it kept him separate and more often than not alone while everyone around him shared their lives with partners.
This was the tragic thing in his life. He had no idea he had made himself alone so he had no idea how to keep from feeling lonely. In those lonely times he took risks he shouldn't have taken. He would bring into his home people who helped him assuage his loneliness but had no personal connection to him. They therefore had no reason to see him as anything but a source of money. There were none of us in the position to protect him from this weakness. So in this regard he took the greatest risks and had the least protections when it finally came about that someone with a grudge and no morals took Denny from us. Most of us had all ready passed on or moved on. Denny, Bill and I were among the few still here and Bill was far to old to have been able to make a difference. I was three thousand miles away. Terry had passed and Joe was long gone. Denny was alone. I wish he had kept in touch with me. I would have been there for him when he needed support. He chose an artist who had an evil heart, mind and plan. It was a long and painful passing of which I only read in an article after the fact. It is not what he should be remembered for and for that reason I wanted to tell the world of a brilliant beautiful soul who had the humility of a novitiate and the genius of a world class surgeon.
Monday, March 6, 2017
We sat in the gold tone Jeep Waggoneer jetting north from New Paltz to central Vermont. Its a lovely late spring day and I am seated in the passenger side marveling at the vibrant life of the woods along the highway. The dark red rock outcroppings with life packed onto, into and around it stretching out mile after mile was an altogether new thing to me. A few short months earlier I had known nothing other than the rigid structures of grid lined streets and towering buildings. Even the small buildings I had grown up with were the five floor brownstones that hugged he sidewalks and grouped together like cans on a shelf. This was a whole new and bold world of living color.
Turning to face me to soak in the newness of it all through my eyes was the man who had taught me so much about loving, giving and surprisingly how humble a person can be. Joe asked me what I found so fascinating about the sidelines of the highway. I turned to him as I always did in that jeep and launched into the sheer joy of seeing the abundant greenery and the richness of life that was wrapped all around me. the rock surfaces that faced the highway in endless stretches, the deep impossible blue of the sky and the verdant trees deeply soaked in every type of blooming shrubbery that poked out sporadically all along the highway.
I couldn't contain myself. I was seeing so much of the life that others rarely noticed. It was a joy just to watch it rush past the windows. While I marinated in all of this life affirming color Joe began to tell me a bit of background about Terry. His stories paled in comparison to the reality but it was good to know they had met in the Florida Everglades. Joe and his then partner James were on vacation in the area and had run into Terry one day. He described Terry as a strong but soft gentlemen type. I came to the wrong conclusions immediately and learned as much over the weekend. A weekend which started on Thursday and ended the following Monday. As the story went it was poolside and Terry was seated next to Joe. They struck up a conversation and each learned that the other had a place in Manhattan. Joe was on Sutton Place and Terry had a brownstone in Greenwich Village. They spent part of that week getting together by each inviting the other to different events and thus a friendship was born. Joe told me of George who was Terry's benefactor and of the history of the estate we were going to for our weekend. That's right, I said Estate. A remarkable plot of land that had originally been a massive property which had been pared down to one fifth its original size. This amounted to the North West side of a mountain that they referred quaintly to as "The Farm". There was a brief description of several people Joe and Terry knew mutually and that two of them would be there for the weekend.
I had no idea of the circle I would have introduced to me that day. It still surprises me whenever I look back and link the names in one large as life version of six degrees of separation. So Joe breaks into his own story telling to change the subject. The new subject was not one I could have guessed or assisted with. It turns out that the route we had taken was soon going to bring us past Terry's driveway. That wasn't the actual point of it though. The point of breaking into his reverie was this driveway was hidden. It was angled in the opposite direction of traffic so as not to be noticed as it was along a curve on the route. The only clue was another driveway nearby had a business sign out front. If you didn't notice the neighbors sign you would skim right past their driveway without ever knowing you had missed it. He was right to break his reverie as we had in fact passed the lane. We doubled back and pulled into what could only be described as an overgrowth of brush and drooping tree limbs onto a dirt road. This was in itself also a deceit. This dirt lane led through a thicket of tube like greenery angling up and off to the right as it climbed into a forest. It made a dramatic change as the lane turned left. Suddenly it opened to a twenty foot wide tar paved road and a long stretch of large old oaks. they reached up, across and met over the newly found street. That dirt road was a disguise. This was the entrance to the property. It went on for about another half mile and opened to about sixty acres of landscaped lawns, lakes and rolling hillside. A whitewashed pine pole fence lined the left side of the driveway that allowed a view up a hillside to the main house. It was a brick home that stretched along the horizon pointing arrow like to the West with a tower on the right side and an arm that reached forward toward us from that tower. I came to realize that everyone who was new to "The Farm" was watched closely for their reactions through out their first stay. I did not disappoint. The surprise of it all literally dropped my jaw. A hearty giggle fit came over Joe as he realized I had never seen anything like this place. It wasn't the last time that happened in this trip.
We pulled around left as The curved drive led to up to the house. There was no garage to speak of for the guests. it was more of an open graveled field. On one side of that gravel field there was a caretakers house. It was faced toward Terry's house and was tucked away into grove of trees. We stepped out of the jeep and I couldn't see it all fast enough. The brick front tower of the house was a thirty foot square three floor peaked turret. What I thought was a front door was in fact a tunnel through the house separating a guest suite from the rest. We walked into the tunnel and to my surprise Joe reached into the corner to a thick rope coming out of the ceiling. Joe pulled the rope and a brass bell perched above us swung to and fro ringing out the presence of guests. A bell that could be heard anywhere in the house and in fact echoed as it rolled over the hillside. Again I was dumbstruck. Again a laugh burst out of Joe. To my further surprise a man stepped to the door wearing nothing but a heavy white towel around his waist.
This was Terry Gallowhur. A man seemingly out of some other era some other place. He was tall and well built. He was in his early forties most likely. It was hard to pin down. Terry never mentioned his age and his face, body and demeanor told nothing of him that was definable. He was so much like the character out of Rivendel that I always referred to him as Elrond when talking to anyone who knew him. He was calm as a millpond. I could honestly say that nothing perturbed him. In the middle of a discussion a wall of his home could fall over and he would turn, look at it and say he would have to get that fixed then return to the conversation. Nothing moved this man off his center. I envy that to this day. He had a toned body and a graciousness that could only be European aristocracy. I learned later that it was a grace that was nurtured in him by his mentor and partner George, who was in fact a Belgian aristocrat. His greeting was warm and friendly but what I noticed even more than the curved muscles that just happened to actually be glistening was his voice. Not too deep and not to booming but a sandy rich tone that commanded attention. It came as a relief since I was given something else to focus on outside of the tossel haired sculpture in a wet towel. He hugged us both and told us how he had been swimming in The lake out back. That didn't quite sink in immediately. I was too focused on retaining a calm and familiar attitude as if I always was greeted by near nude men in old world mansions. He walks us into the front hall where he had a robe on the peg on the wall. Donning this he then called to Mary the house keeper to get someone to bring in our bags.
This was a life I never knew existed. I began thi weekend the same way I ended it, by thanking anyone who worked there for doing all the things they did. Terry begins walking up the stairs and as casually as one would pick up a face cloth he would gesture to a bronze of a man skiing or to an oil painting of the same man and tell of the different artists who had made gifts over many years of his deceased partner George. Everywhere you looked there was a painting or a goblet or candelabra all gifts from guests who were treated as family. This is what I had been welcomed to, an extended family of writers sculptors business tycoons and not surprisingly starving artists. All were welcome. All were treated like they belonged from their first minute to the last. Terry had in him the heart of a man more of an earth mother type than anything else. I felt like I was at home each and every day I had been in this glorious mans home. We wrapped around to the second set of stairs and were given the top of the tower bedroom. A cathedral ceilinged square with two windows on each of the view walls. The fourth wall was our bath. We were told to get freshened up and change into whatever we wished and that we would have a late lunch in the gazebo.
Mary The housekeeper had all ready set out lunch and her husband had followed us up stairs with our bags. We changed and met Terry in the gazebo. I would describe the walk to the gazebo but it would take too long. Suffice to say it was its own arm to this house. We entered the room with grand arching open walls on all sides and were introduced to Bill, Charles and Denny. Joe had known Bill from years earlier and may have known Denny but Charles was new to him so introductions were made and we set to a late lunch complete with a full range of drinks. This was to lead to something done to all new people to the house. They made sure all new people were off guard with enough alcohol to not notice a detail later in the evening just after dinner. It was another of those funny things that they couldn't wait to spring on us. It turns out that Charles also was new to the house and as it turned out, thankfully so for me. We all got a tour showing us all of the otherwise unspoken stories and interesting details like the double bedroom master suite. There was a secret panel to the turret bedrooms from the main house. The swinging bookcase that led from the breakfast room to the library or the hidden sound system that piped gentle music throughout the house twenty four hours a day seven days a week. No matter where you were in This house a soft undertone would play quietly in the background.
It was something Terry had added to the house. It was part of his charm, and charming he was in every way. He could hold a person in his glance and keep you engaged in any and every subject. He was witty without a hint of harshness. He could hold up any conversation and make you feel welcome with what must have been a trademarked double hand clasp. One hand faced up and one down as he took your hand in his and grasped you like you were a welcome brother back after a long journey. If I hadn't been in love with The incomparable Joe Ferrand I would have melted in Terry's presence. After lunch we all went our separate ways. Me with two gin and tonics in me and sent away with a third to wander the grounds. We walked with Terry down an outstretch of tree lined grass walkway. Terry told us how this estate had originally been a small three hundred year old Dutch brick house directly on a town lane that we walked down now. It was a town owned road when George found it. He bought all the land on either side of the lane and then appealed to the town to zone out that lane. It then became a treed walkway in a greater park like setting. He told us of the house being extended and built out in all directions in the nineteen twenties. As the house and estate was built so was a lifestyle built that was a continuation of one George grew up with in back in Europe. At the end of the lane was a life sized sculpture, a modernized version of "Winged Victory" a statue done entirely in steel. A rusty red that year that went through a galvanizing rebirth by the time I saw it next.
He showed us the reason this house had to be built. The park like setting was splendid. An open space of possibly sixty acres that undulated around the house was elegant and dazzlingly bright but this one thing made it all pale. It was a mountain view from a forward arch of low hedge. He stood there at The forward most point and drew us up to the edge where we stood as if in the bow of a ship and leaned into the breeze. He showed us a three quarter circle view of mountains in all directions. The wind flapped the flags on poles that had placements on each end of he hedge. It was truly regal. As regal as the man who stood before us. We sipped our drinks and wandered over to a white wrought iron set of benches. The late afternoon sped by and we heard a bell in the tower ring out. It warned of the impending dinner to come. We went back continuing our discussions of George and how he found Terry living in Sedro Wooley a small farming town in upstate Washington. Of Terry's humble beginnings as the son of a farming family who had slowly begun to realize his impending un-welcomeness in his own home. The story ended as we approached the house. Joe know the ways of the house. Dinner was announced a minimum of an hour ahead of time in case anyone needed a rest or to get changed for the table. We did both.
As we lay in bed just quietly breathing in the sweet dense fresh air and listening to a bit of Bach playing in our bedroom speakers. These were set discreetly into the walls of every room of the house. We nodded off for a few minutes and I dreamed I had been flying. This was no ordinary flying dream, in this one I was flying low to the ground and turned toward a stream. I felt myself slowly revolve over onto my back as I flew over the stream. Then as if it was perfectly normal I dipped down into the stream while still flying through it. Water rushed over my shoulders and over my body giving me a feeling of a sumptuous full body wash like I was in a waterfall but not so heavy and not so rushed. I can still feel that in my waking mind decades afterward. I woke a matter of minutes after having fallen off to sleep. I was so relaxed that I felt a full on cat like stretch come over me. I took the time to let my dream soak into me so I would never forget it. I turned and saw Joe had not in fact fallen asleep. He lay there and watched me the whole time. I wanted to tear up right then. It was the gesture of sweet unassuming nurturer that was so natural to him. He was a natural born gentlemen with no ability to be confrontational on any level but this was more. He was that rare commodity, he could bring love into the most unexpected moments. He breathed life into romance and made it part of who he was all the time. I fought off tearing up and just smiled at him. He pulled me out of bed and gave me a soft kiss and told me we should get dressed for dinner. I had so short a time with this man but lived more with him than I had the previous two decades or the following two decades. I had never met someone who had his innate selflessness and ability to raise others up with him to see what he saw in the world.
We went down to dinner and that's when the evening became utterly fascinating. I got to speak in depth with every guest in the house and learn about each of them. These will be spoken of in their proper turn in their own stories. Suffice to say that Terry was a perfect host that night and every night. It was just who he was. dinner came in courses and with each course came a separate alcohol. An aperitif wine then a dinner wine than a dessert wine all followed by the obligatory personal choice cocktail. Of course mine was a gin and tonic. I learned early on to drink things that required I only ever sip them to slow down the process. Well that didn't work this time. from lunch to dinner I had consumed three wines and four gin and tonics. I was so pleasantly off kilter I had no idea that the board games we were about to play were to be held in the library.
That was the final laugh at the expense of the newbies. The Library. We walked one by one through the library door which also doubled as a book case. So once in the library the door effectively disappeared. The others knew to keep the drinking to a limit once in there but made sure to freshen Charles and my drinks and they all waited. We played all manner of charades and then settled in to playing Pictionary. Then it occurred to me. I needed to go to the bathroom. I discreetly looked around the room, two windows on this side, two on the other, two on the long wall and one door that I knew was a closet. I couldn't find the door I knew we came through. I waited. I learned I had the capacity of self denial on a grand scale only when Charles let out with a big loud "Okay I Give Up, Where's the bathroom?" Everyone but me laughed. I dared not laugh given I was thirty seconds behind Charles in desperation. That's when they reminded us that the entrance was a bookcase built into a wall. Charles made his way out and I admitted I was likely to leave as well. I earned a laugh but a lesser one as I had managed to stave off the inevitable.
This was my introduction to Terry Gallowhur a marvel of a man who had humor charm and grace blended into a remarkable host and a loyal friend. I feel the world needs more men like him. We would have a world more like the one we wished would be but never saw. Well with Terry, Joe, Bill, Denny Charles and many others there that weekend I got to see life as it could be and as it should be. A world I would do anything to live in now.
Turning to face me to soak in the newness of it all through my eyes was the man who had taught me so much about loving, giving and surprisingly how humble a person can be. Joe asked me what I found so fascinating about the sidelines of the highway. I turned to him as I always did in that jeep and launched into the sheer joy of seeing the abundant greenery and the richness of life that was wrapped all around me. the rock surfaces that faced the highway in endless stretches, the deep impossible blue of the sky and the verdant trees deeply soaked in every type of blooming shrubbery that poked out sporadically all along the highway.
I couldn't contain myself. I was seeing so much of the life that others rarely noticed. It was a joy just to watch it rush past the windows. While I marinated in all of this life affirming color Joe began to tell me a bit of background about Terry. His stories paled in comparison to the reality but it was good to know they had met in the Florida Everglades. Joe and his then partner James were on vacation in the area and had run into Terry one day. He described Terry as a strong but soft gentlemen type. I came to the wrong conclusions immediately and learned as much over the weekend. A weekend which started on Thursday and ended the following Monday. As the story went it was poolside and Terry was seated next to Joe. They struck up a conversation and each learned that the other had a place in Manhattan. Joe was on Sutton Place and Terry had a brownstone in Greenwich Village. They spent part of that week getting together by each inviting the other to different events and thus a friendship was born. Joe told me of George who was Terry's benefactor and of the history of the estate we were going to for our weekend. That's right, I said Estate. A remarkable plot of land that had originally been a massive property which had been pared down to one fifth its original size. This amounted to the North West side of a mountain that they referred quaintly to as "The Farm". There was a brief description of several people Joe and Terry knew mutually and that two of them would be there for the weekend.
I had no idea of the circle I would have introduced to me that day. It still surprises me whenever I look back and link the names in one large as life version of six degrees of separation. So Joe breaks into his own story telling to change the subject. The new subject was not one I could have guessed or assisted with. It turns out that the route we had taken was soon going to bring us past Terry's driveway. That wasn't the actual point of it though. The point of breaking into his reverie was this driveway was hidden. It was angled in the opposite direction of traffic so as not to be noticed as it was along a curve on the route. The only clue was another driveway nearby had a business sign out front. If you didn't notice the neighbors sign you would skim right past their driveway without ever knowing you had missed it. He was right to break his reverie as we had in fact passed the lane. We doubled back and pulled into what could only be described as an overgrowth of brush and drooping tree limbs onto a dirt road. This was in itself also a deceit. This dirt lane led through a thicket of tube like greenery angling up and off to the right as it climbed into a forest. It made a dramatic change as the lane turned left. Suddenly it opened to a twenty foot wide tar paved road and a long stretch of large old oaks. they reached up, across and met over the newly found street. That dirt road was a disguise. This was the entrance to the property. It went on for about another half mile and opened to about sixty acres of landscaped lawns, lakes and rolling hillside. A whitewashed pine pole fence lined the left side of the driveway that allowed a view up a hillside to the main house. It was a brick home that stretched along the horizon pointing arrow like to the West with a tower on the right side and an arm that reached forward toward us from that tower. I came to realize that everyone who was new to "The Farm" was watched closely for their reactions through out their first stay. I did not disappoint. The surprise of it all literally dropped my jaw. A hearty giggle fit came over Joe as he realized I had never seen anything like this place. It wasn't the last time that happened in this trip.
We pulled around left as The curved drive led to up to the house. There was no garage to speak of for the guests. it was more of an open graveled field. On one side of that gravel field there was a caretakers house. It was faced toward Terry's house and was tucked away into grove of trees. We stepped out of the jeep and I couldn't see it all fast enough. The brick front tower of the house was a thirty foot square three floor peaked turret. What I thought was a front door was in fact a tunnel through the house separating a guest suite from the rest. We walked into the tunnel and to my surprise Joe reached into the corner to a thick rope coming out of the ceiling. Joe pulled the rope and a brass bell perched above us swung to and fro ringing out the presence of guests. A bell that could be heard anywhere in the house and in fact echoed as it rolled over the hillside. Again I was dumbstruck. Again a laugh burst out of Joe. To my further surprise a man stepped to the door wearing nothing but a heavy white towel around his waist.
This was Terry Gallowhur. A man seemingly out of some other era some other place. He was tall and well built. He was in his early forties most likely. It was hard to pin down. Terry never mentioned his age and his face, body and demeanor told nothing of him that was definable. He was so much like the character out of Rivendel that I always referred to him as Elrond when talking to anyone who knew him. He was calm as a millpond. I could honestly say that nothing perturbed him. In the middle of a discussion a wall of his home could fall over and he would turn, look at it and say he would have to get that fixed then return to the conversation. Nothing moved this man off his center. I envy that to this day. He had a toned body and a graciousness that could only be European aristocracy. I learned later that it was a grace that was nurtured in him by his mentor and partner George, who was in fact a Belgian aristocrat. His greeting was warm and friendly but what I noticed even more than the curved muscles that just happened to actually be glistening was his voice. Not too deep and not to booming but a sandy rich tone that commanded attention. It came as a relief since I was given something else to focus on outside of the tossel haired sculpture in a wet towel. He hugged us both and told us how he had been swimming in The lake out back. That didn't quite sink in immediately. I was too focused on retaining a calm and familiar attitude as if I always was greeted by near nude men in old world mansions. He walks us into the front hall where he had a robe on the peg on the wall. Donning this he then called to Mary the house keeper to get someone to bring in our bags.
This was a life I never knew existed. I began thi weekend the same way I ended it, by thanking anyone who worked there for doing all the things they did. Terry begins walking up the stairs and as casually as one would pick up a face cloth he would gesture to a bronze of a man skiing or to an oil painting of the same man and tell of the different artists who had made gifts over many years of his deceased partner George. Everywhere you looked there was a painting or a goblet or candelabra all gifts from guests who were treated as family. This is what I had been welcomed to, an extended family of writers sculptors business tycoons and not surprisingly starving artists. All were welcome. All were treated like they belonged from their first minute to the last. Terry had in him the heart of a man more of an earth mother type than anything else. I felt like I was at home each and every day I had been in this glorious mans home. We wrapped around to the second set of stairs and were given the top of the tower bedroom. A cathedral ceilinged square with two windows on each of the view walls. The fourth wall was our bath. We were told to get freshened up and change into whatever we wished and that we would have a late lunch in the gazebo.
Mary The housekeeper had all ready set out lunch and her husband had followed us up stairs with our bags. We changed and met Terry in the gazebo. I would describe the walk to the gazebo but it would take too long. Suffice to say it was its own arm to this house. We entered the room with grand arching open walls on all sides and were introduced to Bill, Charles and Denny. Joe had known Bill from years earlier and may have known Denny but Charles was new to him so introductions were made and we set to a late lunch complete with a full range of drinks. This was to lead to something done to all new people to the house. They made sure all new people were off guard with enough alcohol to not notice a detail later in the evening just after dinner. It was another of those funny things that they couldn't wait to spring on us. It turns out that Charles also was new to the house and as it turned out, thankfully so for me. We all got a tour showing us all of the otherwise unspoken stories and interesting details like the double bedroom master suite. There was a secret panel to the turret bedrooms from the main house. The swinging bookcase that led from the breakfast room to the library or the hidden sound system that piped gentle music throughout the house twenty four hours a day seven days a week. No matter where you were in This house a soft undertone would play quietly in the background.
It was something Terry had added to the house. It was part of his charm, and charming he was in every way. He could hold a person in his glance and keep you engaged in any and every subject. He was witty without a hint of harshness. He could hold up any conversation and make you feel welcome with what must have been a trademarked double hand clasp. One hand faced up and one down as he took your hand in his and grasped you like you were a welcome brother back after a long journey. If I hadn't been in love with The incomparable Joe Ferrand I would have melted in Terry's presence. After lunch we all went our separate ways. Me with two gin and tonics in me and sent away with a third to wander the grounds. We walked with Terry down an outstretch of tree lined grass walkway. Terry told us how this estate had originally been a small three hundred year old Dutch brick house directly on a town lane that we walked down now. It was a town owned road when George found it. He bought all the land on either side of the lane and then appealed to the town to zone out that lane. It then became a treed walkway in a greater park like setting. He told us of the house being extended and built out in all directions in the nineteen twenties. As the house and estate was built so was a lifestyle built that was a continuation of one George grew up with in back in Europe. At the end of the lane was a life sized sculpture, a modernized version of "Winged Victory" a statue done entirely in steel. A rusty red that year that went through a galvanizing rebirth by the time I saw it next.
He showed us the reason this house had to be built. The park like setting was splendid. An open space of possibly sixty acres that undulated around the house was elegant and dazzlingly bright but this one thing made it all pale. It was a mountain view from a forward arch of low hedge. He stood there at The forward most point and drew us up to the edge where we stood as if in the bow of a ship and leaned into the breeze. He showed us a three quarter circle view of mountains in all directions. The wind flapped the flags on poles that had placements on each end of he hedge. It was truly regal. As regal as the man who stood before us. We sipped our drinks and wandered over to a white wrought iron set of benches. The late afternoon sped by and we heard a bell in the tower ring out. It warned of the impending dinner to come. We went back continuing our discussions of George and how he found Terry living in Sedro Wooley a small farming town in upstate Washington. Of Terry's humble beginnings as the son of a farming family who had slowly begun to realize his impending un-welcomeness in his own home. The story ended as we approached the house. Joe know the ways of the house. Dinner was announced a minimum of an hour ahead of time in case anyone needed a rest or to get changed for the table. We did both.
As we lay in bed just quietly breathing in the sweet dense fresh air and listening to a bit of Bach playing in our bedroom speakers. These were set discreetly into the walls of every room of the house. We nodded off for a few minutes and I dreamed I had been flying. This was no ordinary flying dream, in this one I was flying low to the ground and turned toward a stream. I felt myself slowly revolve over onto my back as I flew over the stream. Then as if it was perfectly normal I dipped down into the stream while still flying through it. Water rushed over my shoulders and over my body giving me a feeling of a sumptuous full body wash like I was in a waterfall but not so heavy and not so rushed. I can still feel that in my waking mind decades afterward. I woke a matter of minutes after having fallen off to sleep. I was so relaxed that I felt a full on cat like stretch come over me. I took the time to let my dream soak into me so I would never forget it. I turned and saw Joe had not in fact fallen asleep. He lay there and watched me the whole time. I wanted to tear up right then. It was the gesture of sweet unassuming nurturer that was so natural to him. He was a natural born gentlemen with no ability to be confrontational on any level but this was more. He was that rare commodity, he could bring love into the most unexpected moments. He breathed life into romance and made it part of who he was all the time. I fought off tearing up and just smiled at him. He pulled me out of bed and gave me a soft kiss and told me we should get dressed for dinner. I had so short a time with this man but lived more with him than I had the previous two decades or the following two decades. I had never met someone who had his innate selflessness and ability to raise others up with him to see what he saw in the world.
We went down to dinner and that's when the evening became utterly fascinating. I got to speak in depth with every guest in the house and learn about each of them. These will be spoken of in their proper turn in their own stories. Suffice to say that Terry was a perfect host that night and every night. It was just who he was. dinner came in courses and with each course came a separate alcohol. An aperitif wine then a dinner wine than a dessert wine all followed by the obligatory personal choice cocktail. Of course mine was a gin and tonic. I learned early on to drink things that required I only ever sip them to slow down the process. Well that didn't work this time. from lunch to dinner I had consumed three wines and four gin and tonics. I was so pleasantly off kilter I had no idea that the board games we were about to play were to be held in the library.
That was the final laugh at the expense of the newbies. The Library. We walked one by one through the library door which also doubled as a book case. So once in the library the door effectively disappeared. The others knew to keep the drinking to a limit once in there but made sure to freshen Charles and my drinks and they all waited. We played all manner of charades and then settled in to playing Pictionary. Then it occurred to me. I needed to go to the bathroom. I discreetly looked around the room, two windows on this side, two on the other, two on the long wall and one door that I knew was a closet. I couldn't find the door I knew we came through. I waited. I learned I had the capacity of self denial on a grand scale only when Charles let out with a big loud "Okay I Give Up, Where's the bathroom?" Everyone but me laughed. I dared not laugh given I was thirty seconds behind Charles in desperation. That's when they reminded us that the entrance was a bookcase built into a wall. Charles made his way out and I admitted I was likely to leave as well. I earned a laugh but a lesser one as I had managed to stave off the inevitable.
This was my introduction to Terry Gallowhur a marvel of a man who had humor charm and grace blended into a remarkable host and a loyal friend. I feel the world needs more men like him. We would have a world more like the one we wished would be but never saw. Well with Terry, Joe, Bill, Denny Charles and many others there that weekend I got to see life as it could be and as it should be. A world I would do anything to live in now.
Saturday, March 4, 2017
Lee James MacCormack
Lee James MacCormack
On a visit to go see my old college roommate in Seattle in 1989 I was brought to the Starbucks at the Seattle Center. In an open glass atrium at the far end of the lobby I met Lee James MacCormack. A bright vibrant brilliant boy with long curly black hair, a snow white complexion and eyes that were so alive and expressive he could be heard speaking when he was completely silent. He had all the energy of an eager artist and all the style the 1980’s could muster. His long black waving hair fell over his shoulders and the royal blue fedora he donned as he closed up his kiosk matched his deep blue long coat with massive black buttons.
He was an artist and as such he was that unique thing. He was the embodiment of optimism. My friend Greg who introduced me to Lee was off to the side with the coffee we had just bought and waited as Lee locked up the last of the panels. He walked over and we began the long trek back to the opposite doors of the lobby as Lee produces a gift he had bought for me from the kiosk.
Now I have to say he was not well off. As all artists in their 20’s he was as poor as a church mouse but he was just as sweet as he was poor.
He produces this gift and explains that my trip to Seattle had to have a local gift to bring back to New York with me. I was quite taken back. He had just met me and within the fifteen minutes he needed to pay for the gift, close the register and lock up the kiosk he had determined to make a difference in a strangers day.
He produces this gift and explains that my trip to Seattle had to have a local gift to bring back to New York with me. I was quite taken back. He had just met me and within the fifteen minutes he needed to pay for the gift, close the register and lock up the kiosk he had determined to make a difference in a strangers day.
It was one of those early Starbucks mugs, a can shaped white mug with the green mermaid emblazoned and with it a rubber coaster with the same logo. I knew how much he had spent as I had just considered buying them myself. Greg suggested we go out to eat and I saw the quiet face say nothing but the eyes speak volumes. Lee had just spent all the money he had. Before he could decline I asked if I could return the thoughtful gift with taking him out and the ease it brought over that innocent face breathed fresh life back into him. We spent a late lunch talking of the trip out from NY and how wonderful Seattle was as well as the things Lee wanted to achieve in his art. He was so passionate and so determined I knew he would let nothing get in the way of reaching his goal. I saw him that day for a few short hours but he left a mark. I saw in him hope and wisdom. He was infectious in his ability to see and spread the joy he felt. He explained his goals like he was drawing a diagram. This elven boy had a keen mind and a sharp wit. I looked forward to meeting him again.
Before I left Seattle to return to New York I decided I wanted to live there. I spent the following year and a half setting up a business in order to have a base income from NY and planned to go to Seattle and find any simple job to keep myself housed fed and planned to start a new life. After setting up and running a business for my final 8 months in New York I turned over the running of my antiques store to my mother and set out for Seattle. I found a place to live and got a simple job and spent time reconnecting with people I had met in my trip including Lee. He was just as energetic as I had remembered.
One day on my job I noticed I felt tired and sluggish. This continued and went on for weeks. Finally I went to the hospital when nothing I did seemed to help. I went into the emergency room and after they tested my blood checked me in to determine what was wrong. It was obvious to them that something was distinctly wrong but they couldn’t put their finger on it without the tests to confirm their suspicions. They identified a dangerous level of white blood cells and then formally checked me in.
That night I had an episode. I had head pain that was so intense I lost consciousness while still speaking and sitting up on the bed. The man in the other bed called the nurse in as I fell off the bed. I can only tell you what he told me after I regained consciousness. He said I had fallen off the bed saying “Its not fair” repeatedly but then it took a turn. I began speaking in another language. He had been in World War II and was based in the South Pacific. He told me he could recognize enough of the language to claim it was some form of Island language but couldn’t identify the words. That’s when the nurse came in with the doctor. This part I partially recall. I remember a dream state where people were reaching for me and I got scared. I recall pulling away and trying not to be touched. I wriggled and pulled and each time they caught hold of me I would find a way to pull out and proudly boast they hadn’t beaten me yet. This was the last thing I can recall until I regained consciousness in a room by myself in a hospital bed with steel railings and no window or anyone else around. I was strapped down at the wrists and ankles with tan leather restraints attached to the bed. When I regained my full consciousness I was returned to my original room and was released from my comedically applied restraints. I say comedically because according to me and every person I had ever met I was the least dangerous person to have walked the streets of the cities I had lived in. That is I thought I was the least dangerous person until I heard what I had done during my seizure. I hadn’t just wriggled free I had been hitting the people who came in to see what was wrong. Including the nurse my doctor two orderlies and a burly security guard I had the tense experience of meeting later on the following day.
All of my interactions that day were unusual. The guard who came in and circled my bed like a bear looking for the tastiest part to begin chewing. He asked me if I remembered him and I gave him the only answer I had. I said “No, should I”? That seemed to calm him and he regarded me as you would a felon in court who had just claimed he was not guilty. Before leaving he said the doctor told him I wasn’t myself when we met. I still don’t know what I did but I know it was enough to have made him think of me as a high risk.
Then the nurse who mysteriously had not been on that floor until that afternoon who also regarded me as one would an un-exploded bomb and finally my doctor who came in, sat on the bed, explained I had a seizure brought on by spinal meningitis that had not only damaged my brain but had been the result of my body attempting to fight off an illness by over producing the white blood cells to do its normal job but to a ferocious extent.
It was after this he calmly and deeply em-pathetically took my hand in his and said the test had come back from the lab confirming his suspicions. I had tested positive for HIV. His somber tone and look of deep sadness was moving and profound.
It was after this he calmly and deeply em-pathetically took my hand in his and said the test had come back from the lab confirming his suspicions. I had tested positive for HIV. His somber tone and look of deep sadness was moving and profound.
It was what I did next that came as a complete surprise. Not only a surprise to the room mate but the nurse the doctor and even myself. I let out a long relaxed sigh. It confused all of them and I could see it. There was a palpable change in everyone and I had to explain. I told him he didn’t give me a death sentence. He empowered me. With a few words he had just told me I was in complete control. I said “Don’t you see? You just said if I want to live a longer life its entirely up to me to make every beneficial choice. If I want it and I make those choices I will live longer. Also if I cant handle life and feel I’m not up to it you just told me I’m in control of that also. If I cant live with it every bad choice I made would shorten my life. You just told me its all up to me. I can have precisely what I choose to give myself”
No one had had that reaction. I don’t know if anyone after that had that reaction. I just know its what I saw in the moment. For the first time it was all up to me.
I had to tell you this in the middle of Lees’ story to explain what came next. I had been assigned a Nurse Practitioner named Trudy Jones for whom I always did and always will have a world of respect. As she filled me in on things I needed to get set up to learn how to build my future she connected me to all the right people and all the right services.
The one most significant to this story was what was called at the time “HIV University”. A six week course in which I would learn everything from how to work with a case manager and the systems and medical needs on to basic nutrition. Something that everyone who had been diagnosed needed in order to survive.
The day arrived for my first class. I walked in to the meeting room and there was Lee standing with others in our same situation. We had both been diagnosed at the same time and both were in this class together. We spoke each day of our classes and went for walks afterward. On some days we met before and would walk around capitol hill and speak of our respective situations.
The day arrived for my first class. I walked in to the meeting room and there was Lee standing with others in our same situation. We had both been diagnosed at the same time and both were in this class together. We spoke each day of our classes and went for walks afterward. On some days we met before and would walk around capitol hill and speak of our respective situations.
He made it clear to me he had no intention of going without making his mark. He wanted his efforts to count for something. He was going to be remembered. So he dedicated himself to redoubling his efforts to make his art count. He put things together at a record pace and he shone like the joyful beacon I had met that first day. His determination overshadowed his joy of life and it was clear he felt this was his one and only chance. He did it. He put together his art show and it was a beautiful success. It however had cost him everything to do so. He was a wizened and wraith like figure by the time he was done. I had gone to a meeting at a local coordinating facility in a house on Capitol hill. Lee was there, a flimsy version of his original self. A friend of his was there as well She had helped him get there and was there to support him as he showed off the achievement of his art show. She was petite and had chestnut brown bobbed hair that circled her face. When it cam his turn to speak Lee shone when he spoke of the show and of the success it had been. He lit up and although the energy wasn’t there the joy was. It was like watching a bonfire blaze up too high and use up all the fuel in one fast flash of light. The meeting ended and I knew I had seen this elf of joy for the last time. He passed shortly after that.
I went into the house for another meeting and as was usual each day you went to the house the white board was full of names of the people who had passed that month. This time the board had his name on it. It was dated and I silently noted that I would not let him pass without doing something to honor him. A year to the day of his passing I went to the house to be present to say I had known this sprite and he had done an art show and I was there to give him his due. I wanted his name spoken. Sitting in the room of maybe 15 people was the girl who had brought him over a year earlier. She too had come to speak of him. Neither of us recognized the other. It came my turn to speak of the happy impish artist I would not let go and as I spoke her head lifted. She asked me his name and I started it and she finished with me. She had come the day of his passing for the same reason. We took it as a notification that remembering him on that day was intended to bring solace to us both. I think to this day Lee had a hand in it. If anyone could orchestrate this it would be him. We both left with a greater feeling of still having him in our lives.
He still haunts me in a way that only a sprite can. With a mischievous lively light that comes off him like a candle from within.
I went into the house for another meeting and as was usual each day you went to the house the white board was full of names of the people who had passed that month. This time the board had his name on it. It was dated and I silently noted that I would not let him pass without doing something to honor him. A year to the day of his passing I went to the house to be present to say I had known this sprite and he had done an art show and I was there to give him his due. I wanted his name spoken. Sitting in the room of maybe 15 people was the girl who had brought him over a year earlier. She too had come to speak of him. Neither of us recognized the other. It came my turn to speak of the happy impish artist I would not let go and as I spoke her head lifted. She asked me his name and I started it and she finished with me. She had come the day of his passing for the same reason. We took it as a notification that remembering him on that day was intended to bring solace to us both. I think to this day Lee had a hand in it. If anyone could orchestrate this it would be him. We both left with a greater feeling of still having him in our lives.
He still haunts me in a way that only a sprite can. With a mischievous lively light that comes off him like a candle from within.
Meeting a Soulmate
Joe Ferrand in Bloomingdales.
Spring in the city was always a time of joy for me. It was the place to be to make things happen and it was the time of year that burst with possibilities. I would tour around the city looking at the windows full of beauty. Stopping at one place or another to take in the vivid colors, the glistening lights and the marvels of metal, glass, painting, furniture and clothing that made the actual shopping part unnecessary. It was enough for me to see all the amazing things scattered around like a treasure cave out of some dreamscape.
One of the places that drew me to it was Bloomingdales. In the heart of the most livable part of Manhattan spilling over with what seemed impossible foods, linens, fine kitchen articles, clothes, shoes, accessories, jewels and speaking to a lifestyle I hoped would someday be my own. It was filled floor by floor with the stuff of dreams. The clothes one wore on a trip to Italy or the shoes to dance the night away in a darkly color speckled nightclub. This day I was looking over the shirts some wealthy man might casually drape on for a sun drenched stroll along a beach resort in the Hampton’s. I stood by a tall display that had a glass cubed top placed over an outward chrome knobbed rack jutting out, descending set of hung shirts in height order set precisely by size. I stood up from my stooping inspection while dreamily wondering where that shirt I liked might go and what it would see on its travels .
I straightened up and noticed a tall dark haired man standing on the opposite side of the display from me. He drew my attention and as I looked I realized he was looking directly into my eyes. His large round dark eyes were mesmerizing. I sank into them without realizing I had spent a little too much time looking back. I had just turned twenty eight a few days earlier and was well into the years in which I knew just how long a man was allowed to look another man in the eyes without reprisal. I didn’t stop, I couldn’t. I just kept looking into a soul that I knew was a deep pool reaching inward by miles unmeasured. He walked around the display and stood in front of me and simply said “Is it you”? I don’t know why he asked that or what he had meant. we never mentioned it after that moment. I simply said “Yes” nothing else just yes.
We began to talk and as we spoke we knew we would be going on for a while so I suggested we get something to eat and sit while we spoke. He told me there was a cafe a few floors up in the store and we turned as we spoke and went on up.
We entered just after it had opened somewhere around 11:00 am and sat and spoke for so long that they were preparing to close before we realized the hours had passed. These hours were packed to the fullest for me. This may take an explanation to make clear how significant this comment could mean. The places we mentioned or the people we described or stories shared blended together our realities and each one brought up connections to other stories. Everything about the place faded into the background behind the reality of having someone stellar in front of me who took up every thought I could muster. I would like to take a moment to clear something up about how significant this last stament is for me. I have never had difficulty registering everything about a place or the people and their casual comings or goings while running thoughts about their lives, or their homes, the possible outcomes of a path in history or the futures waiting to happen. These things have always shared space in my mind. They happen all at once and never seem to impose on each other. Often a casual mention from someone will spark an additional path and should I mistakenly mention any part of it, elicit a look of, for me, predictable confusion from them. To me its a spilling out of one of those lines of thought into the world around me instead of remaining in my mind in lines of parallel thoughts. To others it seems like a lone tangent. It is not, it is part and parcel of the process of being me. Its like lanes on a highway. They co exist while running alongside one another. I have to bring this up because never before or since has this process stopped.
This time in this place it froze and everything about Joe filled my mind. I hungered to know everything he said, did, thought and lived. There was nothing but complete awareness of this one person and nothing was as important as hearing his every word with complete presence. This point being made I return to the cafe where I could not under threat describe the walls, ceiling, floor, tables, chairs, occupants, servers, counters or for that matter anything other than Joe. He wore a navy lightweight v necked blue sweater over a button down damasked white on white chevron patterned shirt with form fitting jeans and a pair of slim fit well worn black penny loafers and a chrome buckled navy leather belt. As we rose to leave he suggested we walk over to the park.
There wasn’t a second in which this marvel of a man was not completely understood by me and the same of me to him. We worked our way through the mid day crowds straight across the East side and into the park. We were casually mentioning things about this area that meant so much to either of us. I pointed out the bronze sculptures at the north end of the boating pond and spoke of the times I had passed them with friends through the years. Each one had its own history and story of how it came to be in the park. At least it did according to him. I knew nothing of them, I learned this from him and he delighted in sharing who had conceived the idea of them being there, how they made it happen and when they went into place. I mentioned my love of the boating pond and again a history of the pond and its uses, its times in which different things occurred there and why. He was a wealth of stories and seemed to know either everything or everyone. Whichever it was he passed it all along casually with no affectations or pretenses. Just the joy of sharing something of value.
We meandered slowly past the exotic trees that were scented in their blossoms as if they were rose covered. We stepped past the light green trees of spring in New York. We were savoring the time along with the company as we moved into the park and luckily for me it had just passed daylight savings time so I had one more hour of daylight with him sitting in what is now the only spot in Central Park I care to ever see again. We stopped there, an outcropping of land into the lake in the Rambles section. In it was a long flat rock with a path just above and another just below running parallel to this rock. There was a ledge high enough to lean against or if one chose to lift up could also serve as a seat. We were there from mid afternoon to the end of dusk. Our far ranging discussion was a dialog based on our families and origins, our loves, likes, joys and dreams. We learned about each others paths as if it was happening to each of us for the first time.
There was a fresh eagerness to catch up as if there had been a gap in our having all ready known each other. This was not a new person to either of us. This was two halves of the single unit that fit together and had missed each other like a missing twin. There is an odd thing that happens in Manhattan. When the sun sets in the West it shows as setting in the East. It happens because so many buildings that line the park are flat glass frames that grid the walls of the park. It was this phenomenon that all New Yorkers know all too well. You don’t see the glare of the sun only in the West. Simultaneously you see it glare toward you reflected off all those windows. You cant see the time in the stretching shadows nearly ass well as the angles from which you see a distant sun. As it broached eight thirty we realized we had to bring our evening to a close. We walked out of the park and crossed the East Side over to Park Avenue and all the way to Grand Central Station talking the entire time.
Entering the station we located my train, walked to it and spoke right up until the departure time. Luckily for me it was one of the more ancient type of silver steel ribbed trains that had doors which required a conductor come by after the train was in motion in order to close and seal. This was a true Manhattan experience in a time where you could simultaneously find all the old and all the new at the same place. The people were no different. you had the old mind set and the new but could never truly know which was which. An older gentleman could be an out gay proud introvert and a younger pleasant appearing business woman could come from a background filled with outward recrimination toward others. It was an era in which being out was by choice and being closeted was primarily a requirement. For me, being a bit reluctant, a bit too shy and a bit too defensive about my private life I decided to part ways by just getting on the train and say my goodbyes discreetly. I reluctantly got on the lowest step and was about to take the two additional steps into the upper level platform and walk to the seating area when without a second thought spun around stepped off the train dashed to Joe and gave him our first kiss. I jumped onto the train smiling more broadly and more sincerely than I can recall ever doing before just as the train began to make its slow dragging exit. I was the happiest I had ever been. I watched him as he grew more and more distant and finally gave up on looking as the conductor came into the car to close the door.
I stepped on air the entire week afterward. Wherever I went I somehow managed to not touch down and reveled in the realization that walking on air was in fact possible and had happened to me. This is how I met the most meaningful being to have graced my life. My soul was filled that day, it made me a different man. It always will make me smile to think of any part of this day.
The Loss of a Soulmate
Today is the 6th of November. The last time I managed to remember the day of the year was the 6th of November was 1988. That previous night I sat vigil with the single greatest human it has been my privilege to have know.
It was the night I knew I was going to lose him. After months of watching him slip away it had come down to the final night of his life. It also happened to be the day of his birth. His entire family had gathered into our home to be there when he passed.
His first male partner was there as well. Julian had known Joe when Joe first came out and was his first partner. I was Joe’s last partner. Julian was in the far end of the house with his then partner Peter sleeping in our bedroom while I sat vigil with Joe at the opposite end of the house in the second den. All through the house various Ferrand brothers (Joe Ferrand had three brothers) There were wives, their children and several cousins. Joe came from a large extended family. He had the three brothers and at one point his Aunt helped raise him so he was very close with his cousins.
One of those cousins Magda Torres was there in the room sitting vigil with me. The house was quite large. It accommodated all of these people but it did mean they were everywhere. Magda and I were the only two who refused to go to sleep when everyone else had drifted off. I know they were very close. While in his teens he had been living with his aunt, Magdas mother. He helped raise Magda and her brother Juan who was also in my home that night. While with me for Joe’s final month Magda told me how Joe would dress up as father Christmas for her and her brother who were little at the time. She said she knew all along it was Joe but that didn’t matter. It mattered that Joe wanted to do that as a gift for her and her little brother.
So she stayed up with me. As the night wore on it got more and more quiet. We lived off in the countryside. The house was behind a farm and was bordered in the back by the Wallkill River. Our driveway was a half mile long road that cut the farm in front of us down the middle.
I still dream sometimes that I am passing that farm and looking down that long drive but never once have I been able to turn down that Drive. I’ve only ever been able to linger and look off into the distance where I can see the top of the house through the trees that bordered the property. A small bit of white with a black roof with the driveway entrance bending into the far away home I never saw after I left the day of the memorial.
I sat on a sofa while Madga sat on the other. Joe’s hospital bed was placed under the picture window that looked out over the property to the four apple trees where he and I use to watch Deer. They would come to snack on the fallen apples after they dined on the ears of corn from the farm in front. It was silent because even the farm had no one moving about. The road was so distant that no passing car or truck could be heard. No planes flying over, no quiet chat, just the labored breathing as we sat and waited. The breaths were long slow and labored.
Joe had gone out of his life much like he lived it, quietly and gently. at about 6 Am Magda took a short nap and I let her know I would be there so she could take a bit of time. I wouldn’t let him pass without her and assured her I wouldn’t let her just sleep and miss his passing. She awoke an hour later and we again sat as one waiting. At 8:30 she did the same for me. I drifted off for 16 minutes.
I woke up to complete silence. He had passed and Magda didn’t have the time to wake me. He just went. I sat up turned to him and he was gone. I remember I couldn’t move for a moment. I realized I had missed his last moment and it broke me. That was the moment nothing meant as much to me as it ever had or ever did again. It was like the lights in a theater had been dimmed to tell the public this was the time to go to their seats. I could still see everything clearly but in a much dimmer way.
That day was his 43rd Birthday and the night before his family stood around him singing a last Happy Birthday song. A song I tried to mouth along but couldn’t bring myself to sing. I couldn’t even finish mouthing it. It was hollow and false. It was a song of celebration. It was about how wonderful it was that he existed. It was not a song to celebrate his last day on Earth.
He saw me try to humor his family. He saw me just mouthing the words and he saw me falter. His eyes said it all. He knew I couldn’t do it and he knew why. I was losing half my soul and he always understood me. There was precious little about me he didn’t know. We knew each others hearts minds and souls immediately when we first met. We only filled each other in on the details of or lives up to the point when we met. It was shared background only. What mattered was our insight into each other. I knew his mind when joy would come up and I knew him in his silences. This was the final thought we shared. He knew why I could not be part of the throng in that den singing out a song of celebration.
As I regained myself I went to the bedside and took his hand. I held on to it and Magda faded away for me. In fact it was only upon writing this that I remembered it was her in the room with us that night. I had blocked out as much as I could for the past 28 years. Half my life. In fact, until today I could not force myself to remember his passing birthday on the actual day. I was 28 when we met and for 27 subsequent years I couldn’t force myself to remember November 6th On November 6th.
Magda quietly said we should tell the others. I got up let his hand go and walked out as she tucked his hand back onto the covers. I walked out to the kitchen, through the Dining room where people slept on the floor. Through the living room with people in all the chairs and on the three sofas. Down the hallway past the other bedrooms where the rest of Joe’s family slept and went on into our bedroom. 7 people were sleeping in there two in the other den, three on the floor and Julain and Peter were in our bed. I leaned over to Julain and he woke with a start. He saw the look in my face and he flew out of that bed. He raced through the room down the hall and past all the other rooms past everyone else. They all woke from the start. Julian was not a small man. He was more like a human butterfly to me. 6 feet 2 inches of all arms and legs flying through the house sounding more like a horse running than the butterfly I normally thought of when those long lean limbs would gently stride through a room. I followed as fast as him going back to the second den and everyone knew. Joe was gone. Julian knelt one kneed on the floor holding Joe’s arm sobbing. Magda stood there as did I and as his family gathered back into the room they had previously sung to him and said their Goodnights.
I really don’t know what they said or did after that. I wasn’t part of their circle. They were his family I was only the partner. They gathered in the living room and said their prayers and then went into one of the larger bedrooms to do some sort of revival meeting. They were glad of my absence and I was glad of theirs. At this point the lights were dimmed as the day began. The sun seemed not as bright for me. It was full daylight but I walked around in the dark. I knew I couldn’t function if I grieved so I put it aside. No one was going to take any of what was left to me of Joe. Well other than the three full length moving trucks that showed up after Joe’s memorial service as they emptied out my home to bring back and sell at auction.
I had my thoughts of Joe, my time with him was the only important thing and knew I had to make arrangements. Until the end of the memorial I don’t think I said or did anything that I didn’t absolutely have to, to anyone. When the house was emptied I got into a car, said my last good bye to the only home I ever knew was going to mean anything to me and left down the long driveway I have never seen again.
Today is the first time I have allowed myself to recall that day. I had to do something significant to remember that day. So last night I sat up until 8:46 am and then went to sleep. I hid the entire day yesterday and am doing so again today. I just cant bring myself to be part of anything outside the bedroom door today. This day is dedicated to him and all I really want is to see him in whatever way I can. So this will have to do. I’ll write about him and sit and remember the days I felt complete with my other half by my side
It Is Time
It’s time I said something, its been too long overdue all ready. They had stories to tell and they cant tell them anymore so its up to someone, might as well be me.
For me life has always been a learning experience. If I’m not learning then why would I be here. That’s why I know them, knew them and know their stories. Some were gods among mortals and some were simple people with something to say that time wouldn’t allow. Well I have the time, seems I’ve got that one thing in abundance so I will sit, ponder, fill out each picture and move along the line through what I knew and can still recall.
Each story will stand on its own and many of them will connect to one another. My life has been the compendium of their shared moments. My time line brought me to so many in such diverse American Regions and the full spectrum of cultures and ages creating a diorama of moving, living, breathing colors of life. It would be a crime not to bring those people back so their moments will live on in this anthology of stories.
It’s my hope to bring vivid color to these things like the bright sun smattered memories they are to me, so justice is done to the fullest. There is a word seldom used in the tech generation, Kodachrome. It was the new, vibrant true to life photographic achievement of the 1960’s that made all the world so beautifully accessible. That was so in its day but is now a more nostalgic way of saying that this wonderful thing existed. The advertising said so clearly. Stop for a moment, look more closely at the details of this particular moment. This was a life worth living and by sharing comes through the emptiness of the lost past into the present with the freshness of each day imbued with its original colors, sights, scents and heart. That seems somehow more appropriate to me since these all connect with the world that existed when Kodachrome came into being.
Today is the day they come back and greet new people with many of their joys, laughter and flaws. They will breathe new in hearts and minds that will see their time, their hopes and their pensive moments. A seaside chat at a summer brunch. A commonly understood laugh when showing old family pictures to a group of friends. We all would look at how we stood out so boldly in those images but only see it in hindsight. This is a chance to make the clarity of hindsight take on its full character. Learning from the simple moments and slowly building as each card is carefully placed and secured. Done so meticulously so the house of cards we lived gets pieced back together again.
With these things in mind the following anthology is more than a memorial to those who came before and more than a testament to their character. It’s a reminder that who we are now is another step in a process that is more than our own families and friends. There is a ripple effect that emanates from those of us who came before. They had meaning in their lives. They saw things we never will again and made a road that we can still walk. They gave a gift that silently passes to people they will never meet.
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