Great Friends

Having met the night Jeff locked me out of the apartment, Shirley and I became friends. She repaired vacuum cleaners and other small appliances for Sears. We worked similar schedules and often hung out together after work.

Shortly after we met, Shirley took me back to her bedroom. In it was a china cabinet, chocked full of mason jars of various sizes. Each jar was meticulously labeled with the variety of the marijuana buds or seeds it contained. I was impressed.

High Times had nothing on Shirley. From cultivation to curing, storage and consumption, her knowledge was encyclopedic. She could describe subtle differences in the buzz you got from smoking any one of countless different varieties and sex plants like nobody's business. It was her gift.

Shirley was intent on perfecting her own cultivar. Her goal: good flavor, a mild buzz, and no munchies. We in the Elite Fleet were more than happy to sample the results of her trials and to offer our own expert opinions.

Now and then she went to an undisclosed location to help with the harvest. Her job involved cleaning the cured buds and bagging them up. The pay was great.

The benefits were even better. She could smoke all she wanted while she worked. She was also able to take home several of those white, 13-gallon kitchen trash bags full of the shake she swept from the floor.

In hard times we'd drag out a bag and dig through for fragments of bud. Whatever was left got rendered into butter. Nobody could eat just one of Shirley's homemade brownies or chocolate chip cookies. The more you ate, the more you wanted.

Shirley is the most trusting, generous, accepting, and non-judgmental individual I have ever met. She has an innate ability to see the good in anyone, including those in which a little good was very hard to find. She is a great friend.

Lovers come and go. But a great friend lasts forever--or at least a good 30 or 40 years. I am extremely grateful for my many great friends.

The great friends I met around the time I came out will always be special to me. Some of the stuff we did damn near killed us. Still, I'm not sure I would have survived without them.

Shirley. My roommate, Linda. My gay sister, Mitzi. Paul. Jeff's boyfriend, Jamie. Thanks for being my Elite Fleet for all these many years. I love you.

My Gay Sister

While living at the Cloisters I landed a full-time job working in the College of Pharmacy stockroom at UK. Break your beaker and I was the guy who punched your lab card and gave you a new one. It was exciting stuff.

Libby lived at The Cloisters and worked at the UK Library. We met at one of the monthly social functions at the complex clubhouse. The clubhouse and the three bedroom apartment she shared with two roommates were across the street from the golf course apartments.

Her roommates were sisters from Bowling Green. They met Libby at Western Kentucky University. We hung out around the pool a lot. Libby and I sometimes rode into work together.

One day Libby called to invite me over for dinner. She said a college friend from California was coming in and she wanted us to meet. Beyond that she offered very little in the way of details.

Libby's apartment overlooked the parking lot. I was kicked back on the deck enjoying a cigarette when our guest arrived. She pulled in a few minutes before 7.

Curious, I watched as she parked, got out, locked her car and headed toward the apartment. She wore cowboy boots and blue jeans and looked very familiar. We recognized each other at the same time. I don't know who was more surprised.

We read each other right away, too. You gay? Yep. You too? Yep. Damn!

For the next 20 years me and my gay sister hooked up whenever she came to Lexington. Mercy. The stories I could tell...

But I won't. Not now anyway. And in the absence of any proof we'll just keep denying the rumors. They couldn't all be true anyway. Right Mitzi?

The Elite Fleet Hits the Road

I ran around with Paul and Steve throughout the 80s. Sometimes other friends or the guys we dated came along. Most the time it was just the three of us.

Steve rarely dated or hooked up. It wasn't that he couldn't, he just wasn't interested. He'd rather just drink and dance. You could tell the time by the number of buttons undone on his shirt.

Paul was the ringleader. We were all at least a little bit in love with him. We went wherever he wanted to go and did whatever he wanted to do.

A lot of it was his attitude. Paul was arrogant, cocky, and sure of himself. He was very gay, but not the least bit effeminate. He never told his parents he was gay but brought his lover home with him for the holidays. Somehow, it never came up.

Lexington's 1 a.m. closing time never slowed us down. After the bars closed we'd hop in Steve's car and head to either Louisville or Cincinnati. Both had a Badlands that stayed open until 3 or 4 in the morning.

The Cincinnati Badlands was my favorite. It was a huge complex. Just inside the entrance was the leather/cowboy bar. From there you passed through a little anteroom with a jukebox into the piano bar then down two ramps to the stainless steel dance floor. There were cocktail tables and restrooms on the landing between the ramps, and a basement level that opened up for after-hours.

We'd dare each other to walk all the way around the leather bar. You had to squeeze between two rows of big scary-looking guys wearing leather harnesses, chains, and ass-less chaps. Guys like them ate guys like us for breakfast.

Paul wasn't the least bit afraid. Steve and I would hit the dance floor while he flirted with the leather dudes and cowboys. He was so consistent about his type we called anyone he ever liked Jed Clampett.

Most of the time, when the bars closed we headed home. Before leaving town, whether in Louisville or Cincinnati, we always stopped at White Castles to load up for the ride. The sun was usually coming up as we hit the parking lot at The Cloisters.

Now and then one of us would meet someone and want to stay. With one car and no cell phones, staying could get complicated. Sometimes two of us would share a hotel room while the other went home with his new friend. Sometimes a hotel wasn't needed.

Whatever we did required an extremely high level of cooperation and coordination. Phone numbers had to be written down and deadlines determined. Over time we learned to agree on the consequences for missing important deadlines ahead of time, too.

One weekend Steve and I stayed in a hotel room while Paul went home with a friend. The plan was for Paul to call us at the hotel before check-out to arrange a place for us to pick him up. He never called. Steve had to work so we hit the road and returned to Lexington without him.

When we got to Lexington there were furious messages from Paul on answering machines all over town. Since Steve had to work, I had to go get him. Great.

Trauma car wasn't interstate-worthy. I forget what was wrong with Paul's camaro. It was bad enough we never took it anywhere. Steve's car was the only option.

I dropped Steve off where he worked and headed to Louisville in his beat-up Chevrolet Impala. The speedometer didn't work. You just went with traffic and kept your fingers crossed.

Paul chewed me out all the way back to Lexington. Somehow it was my fault he didn't call the hotel before we had to check out. Yeah, he was a little self-centered, but we loved him anyway.

We Were So Gay

Timing is everything. By the time I started going to Johnny Angel's again, Michael had set up house with Mark. I knew Mark, too, and was happy for them. They were obviously very happy together and rarely came out.

When Jay moved out of the Lamplighter Apartment shortly after we met, Steve moved in to take his place. Steve was a Bryan Station graduate--pretty, very easy going, and dumber than a rock. All were important traits for anyone living with Paul.

Jeff moved out of Lamplighter Apartments and into a downtown apartment with his new boyfriend. Jamie had moved from Louisville to Lexington to attend UK. Everyone thought Jamie looked like Robbie Benson and believed Jeff had hogtied him before anyone else even had a chance to meet him.

According to Jeff, they were deeply in love and excited about building a future together. Jeff sure gave it 100 percent. He was bound and determined to have the best relationship in the history of the world.

His idea of working on the relationship revolved around fixing Jamie. No problem, imperfection or perceived slight escaped comment. For the sake of the relationship he needled, prodded and nagged Jamie every waking hour.

Jamie drank a lot. Except for Jeff, we all did. Jeff was convinced Jamie was a raging alcoholic. The rest of us felt the constant scrutiny that came with being the object of Jeff's affection was enough to drive anyone to drink and sided with Jamie.

After Jeff moved out of Lamplighter, Paul and Steve moved to The Cloisters, too. Our gay friends came over on weekends to lay-out at the pool with us. We even had enough guys to play volleyball, gays against the straights.

We were so gay. I laugh now thinking about it. The competition was always friendly, if not intense--especially when we were winning. The teasing was good-natured and often hilarious.

We went out six nights a week. Before going out we gathered at Paul's apartment because it was closer to the laundry room and he had the best music collection. We sat around in gym shorts with our shirts on hangers and our jeans in the dryer listening to disco albums, watching MTV with the sound off, polishing our cowboy boots and getting primed for a night on the town.

It was the 80s. We took turns in the bathroom beating our hair back into fierce looks with a blow dryer and a vent brush. When you got it just right, you sprayed like crazy to laminate every hair in place. Outside you faced the wind at all times to avoid the dreaded back-draft.

At a specified time someone would run to the laundry room to fetch all the jeans from the dryer. We'd pull on piping hot jeans (Levi's, red tag, 501s though 505s were also very popular). To keep them from stretching out, we wouldn't zip or fasten them until after we'd parked and were walking to the bar.

We thought we hung the moon and that gay Lexington revolved around us. OK so we were deluded. Even so, the truth never got in the way of us having a good time.

Straight Jeff

After my little gay experiment I focused on work. Work, work and more work. I needed the money. I needed to stay busy, too.

Microwave ovens had arrived in stores, including McAlpin's. Giant Amanas flew off the shelf at $1200 each. Since I was the only 40-hour person in the department, most the sales were mine.

Thinking I was good at selling high ticket items, they moved me to Electronics. I didn't know squat about the finer points of televisions and sound systems. The black and white television and 8-track stereo I had at home were barely even related to the high-end pieces on the show floor.

Jeff G. also worked in electronics. We used to go out to Smuggler's Inn, the Library Lounge or 2001--that giant club way out Richmond Road--to meet chicks. That's what you do when you're 21, straight and single.

Jeff lived alone. We talked about the high cost of having our own apartments. Since we got along so well, we decided to move into a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment at The Cloisters.

Our third-floor apartment overlooked Tates Creek Golf Course. The balcony was nice, unless the golf course was open. Errant balls hit our sliding glass door at least once or twice a week.

Jeff was not happy when he found out I was going to Johnny Angel's again. He said he could not and would not live with a gay guy. I vowed to do better and insisted I was straight.

Except of course, I wasn't. Jeff started driving around Johnny Angel's to see if my car was there. One night he came all the way upstairs to find me dancing with the Elite Fleet. He walked up, made sure I saw him, then left.

When I got home the deadbolt was locked and I couldn't get in. I pounded on the door for a while. The people across the hall were laughing and making jokes about the fags across the hall having a fight.

Since they were up, I figured what the heck and knocked on the door. A blond woman a few years older than me answered. She said her name was Patricia. I explained about the deadlock and asked to use her phone to call him.

Jeff let me in and told me he would be out by the end of the month. That gave me about a week to find a roommate. Damn!

Fate intervened. Linda was looking for a place to live. We'd worked together at Saint Joseph Hospital and ran around during the Kathy era. To this day she remains the best friend I ever had.

Michael

If you're expecting graphic details about my first night with Michael and all the banging on the wall from Mrs. P, you won't get them here. I'm saving those details for the book. I haven't written it yet, but we all know it's coming.

I'll just say Michael and I fell head over heels. He took me to Johnny Angel's for my first Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. Holidays were always like homecoming because everyone home for the holidays needed to get out and decompress after a stressful day with the family.

Coming out is hard. My world turned upside down. Dizzying highs and gut-wrenching lows came in rapid succession. Trying to keep one leg firmly planted on boats going in different directions was ripping me apart and keeping me from moving forward.

The emotional hurricane was driven by opposing forces. Now in full panic mode, Mom pulled out all the stops to divert me from the path I was on. We fought to the point of tears weekly, if not daily for many, many months.

My new gay friends were an island of support in an otherwise stormy sea. They understood what I was going through and stood by me. Because he liked to feel needed almost as much as he liked to hear himself talk, Jeff was particularly helpful.

Sweet, beautiful Michael was sensitive, compassionate and extremely patient. My hurricane was his hurricane, too. He never complained and was always there.

An attack of appendicitis in January landed me back at Saint Joseph Hospital. I'd quit a few months earlier to work full-time at McAlpin's. After surgery I went to my parent's house to recuperate.

Michael came to see me every day. I can only imagine the looks he got from my family in that big fur coat of his. Aside from the coat, he looked butch enough. But once he opened his mouth the gig was up.

I needed to talk to someone. Mom suggested a priest. My friends told me to do it just to shut her up. The priest told me it was OK to be gay as long as I never acted on it.

So I didn't. Michael often spent the night on the sofa so we could still spend time together. No matter how much I begged and pleaded, he held me to my word.

I couldn't do it. Being gay was just too hard. When I told Michael about my decision, we cried together.

And then he left...

Wednesday

The sound of ringing woke me up early the next day. Thinking Michael wasn't one to waste any time, I grabbed the phone and said hello. It was Mom.

She wanted to know exactly what I'd been doing at "that place" downtown. Someone who worked with my Aunt Mary had seen me at Johnny Angel's the night before. Aunt Mary had to call mother to let her know.

Thinking fast first thing in the morning is not my forte. Nor am I a very good liar. I told her the truth: I'd become friends with some gay guys at McAlpin's and gone out with them after work.

OK, so maybe it wasn't the whole truth. She suspected as much but took me at my word. I'm sure she kept the phone lines hot the rest of the day discussing the issue with my aunts and her friends.

I put a stack of albums on my console stereo and proceeded to straighten things up around the apartment. Apparently, the music was too loud as Mrs. P was banging on the wall. She banged on the wall any time she heard a peep out of me. Bitch.

Michael called as I was getting ready to go to work. He asked how things had gone with Jay. I laughed and said we probably wouldn't be going out again.

We chatted. He told me he worked in construction, carrying bricks to the guys who were teaching him the trade. That explained the tan, the big arms, and the beefy chest. After he finally asked I said going out with him after work would be great.

Michael knocked on my door at exactly 10. He was wearing the biggest fur coat I'd ever seen. It was real, too. He walked me to his late-model, cherry red Corvette convertible with a vanity plate that read: CRUISIN.

We had a blast at Johnny Angel's. Michael was a perfect gentleman. He had my full attention all night. We really hit it off.

Jay acted like nothing had happened the night before. No doubt he was used to reactions like mine. He thought we made a cute couple and was glad to have introduced us.

Jeff's reaction was lukewarm. I later found out he was pissed because Michael got to me first. Paul rolled his eyes and made some comment about me not wasting any time.

I begged to differ. Since Monday I'd been thinking about my life and come to see I had in fact always been gay. I felt like I'd wasted a lot of time.

Michael promised we'd make up for any lost time. His smile and that I was hoping he was right made me blush. We headed for the 'vette to go back to my apartment.

Teeny, Tiny, Little Jay

Johnny Angel's was more popular with straight Lexington in 1979 than at any time before or since. Disco was huge. Everything about Johnny Angel's made it THE place for clubbing among straight and gay trendanistas.

That night the place was packed. People stood four and five deep trying to catch the eye of a bartender to order a drink. As at work, Jay seemed to know everyone.

He introduced me to guys in a clique that came to be known as the Elite Fleet. We'd all attended high schools in Lexington. Lafayette and Henry Clay were very well represented. I was the only Creeker. Another guy went to Bryan Station.

The other big clique came up from Richmond. They had an equally obnoxious name I can no longer remember. The guys in both groups were a very pretty bunch of young men. Michael, from the Richmond group, was especially fine.

The biggest difference between being straight and gay, right off the bat, is that you know it when a guy thinks you're cute. Girls are subtle and coy about these things. They avoid eye contact, smile and look away quickly, or send a friend over to chat you up. Anything more direct and someone might think they're easy.

Guys don't care about being easy. In fact, that's the second big difference between being gay and being straight. If you're straight, she's supposed to say no. Without her, well, there's just nobody to say no.

Didn't take more than five minutes to feel like I was stuck with Jay. Some of the looks I was getting from Michael were enough to make me blush. He was one guy I definitely wanted to get to know better.

Jeff, a talented dancer, spent most of his time on the dance floor. He and several of the guys and girls he danced with had obviously put in some practice time. They were really good and often attracted onlookers.

Paul wasn't really into the disco scene. He was a type, and had a type. He wore skin-tight jeans, a t-shirt that was exactly too small, and boots at the bar. His type rarely appeared at bars like Johnny Angel's.

Other than Jeff and whoever he was twirling around, the rest of the Elite Fleet danced in a big group. Everyone had a cigarette in one hand, a cocktail in the other, and the ability to check themselves out as needed in one of the many mirrors on and around the dance floor. Michael danced next to me for most of the night.

Closing time came all too soon. We said our good-byes and headed back to Lamplighter. I had no idea of what lay ahead, but it was looking like me and Jay were going to make-out.

We did. Might know my first guy had the greatest need for masculine enhancement of any guy I've ever met to this day. It was tragic. I had to laugh which pretty much put an end to our date.

Just as well. Michael had my phone number. From the way he had looked at me, I was pretty sure he'd call.

Tuesday

The guy I saw at Johnny Angel's worked in Fine China & Gifts at McAlpin's. We'd never worked together or run into each other after work. I didn't know his name.

Fine China & Gifts was just across from Housewares. The very next day he was also working. I waited for an opportunity to introduce myself.

He was about my height, but reed thin. He had a dark tan and brown hair with blond highlights. He smiled a lot and seemed to know everyone in the store.

I sidled over to the area of Housewares closest to where he was working. He hadn't noticed me and was paying no attention. Hmmmmmmm...what to do? Rearranging the cookware was clearly the shortest route to my goal. Banging pots and pans around definitely got his attention.

His name was Jay. After introductions I mentioned having seen him out the night before. He asked where that might have been and why I hadn't said hello.

Using what was soon to become a familiar euphemism, I told him it was "downtown." He was obviously having a great time with his friends. I couldn't possibly intrude.

Jay said he was out celebrating with his roommates. They had been classmates at Lafayette and just moved from their parents' houses to a three bedroom apartment. He invited me over to meet them after work.

They lived in the Lamplighter Apartments on Reynolds Road. I was a nervous wreck. Jay opened the door when I knocked, invited me in, and introduced me to his two roommates.

Paul looked like a Greek god. He was at least 6'4" with blond hair, gray-green eyes, and an aristocratic countenance. After a polite hello he withdrew to the dining room to continue what he was doing before my arrival.

Jeff had a great tan, sparkling green eyes, and great hair. He wore tight white terrycloth tennis shorts that barely covered his ass. He wore them to class, too. He wore them when we met for lunch at the student center a few weeks later.

We sat around the dining room table and talked. I explained about the previous night being my first visit to a gay bar and feeling like I was probably gay. Jeff proceeded to pepper me with questions about my family, my interests, and my likes and dislikes.

Jeff explained being gay wasn't really about sex. He could tell me one way or the other based on my responses to his many questions. Turns out, my affection for Broadway show tunes, Barbra Streisand, and white tennis shoes coupled with a period of fatness followed by rapid weight loss and the ability to dance meant I was, beyond any doubt, certifiably homosexual.

Jeff was sure of it. Jay was inclined to agree. Paul snorted in disgust, went to his room and closed the door.

Jay invited me to come with them to Johnny Angel's. Without hesitation I said I'd love to go. He said he'd drive and I could ride with him.

Guess you could call it my first date with a guy. I had no idea what to expect. I was excited and terrified at the same time. Turns out, both the excitement and the fear were totally unwarranted.