Alan was handsome enough to be called beautiful: dark wavy hair sweeping back; naturally athletic body, skin maintained by Georgette Klinger. He was the first man I know who had facials regularly at the beginning each season. He was on the rebound from an affair with Joseph Iaccobucci when we met. I was not, however, invited to dine on his famous fuck-chicken. This was a meal designed for seduction, leaving the guest appetized and ready for the main course: Alan. He served it quite often.
We dated for a while and spent a week together in St Martin, idyllic if not particularly serious. Being in real estate, he was more interested in the Hampton's Crowd and had a mentor our there.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Micheal Koonsman - November 26, 1986
Michael lived in a basement apartment on Stuyvesant Street. The entry was under the main staircase. The main floor was the living and dining area. In the basement there was a kitchen and above a bedroom. Michael was a large man - 6'4 or 6'5 - and bounding into his home gave me the impression of a large rabbit entering his warren. Yet once inside the wonderland, everything seemed normal in an east-village kind of way. Mostly, people lounged on the floor propped up on pillows. There were baskets for storage and spaces for well placed artifacts: an icon of Mary, a flower, a painting, a Japanese Buddha.
Michael was a priest who took on sexual freedom fearlessly and generously. His passions were a radical departure from his roots in Denver & Scandinavia. He was one of a handful of young priests notorious for getting phone numbers between the wafer and the wine. But it wasn't salacious or seductive, it was a generosity of spirit that invited men into a joyous celebration of their bodies as incarnations of holy writ. While I did not partake of this communion, many did and were thankful for knowing him so well.
Through his work at many parishes, he was known to afflict the comfortable as well as comfort the afflicted. He added so much life to the practice of love. Chuck Burleigh was with him the night he died, as he had been for many nights before.
Michael was a priest who took on sexual freedom fearlessly and generously. His passions were a radical departure from his roots in Denver & Scandinavia. He was one of a handful of young priests notorious for getting phone numbers between the wafer and the wine. But it wasn't salacious or seductive, it was a generosity of spirit that invited men into a joyous celebration of their bodies as incarnations of holy writ. While I did not partake of this communion, many did and were thankful for knowing him so well.
Through his work at many parishes, he was known to afflict the comfortable as well as comfort the afflicted. He added so much life to the practice of love. Chuck Burleigh was with him the night he died, as he had been for many nights before.
Eddie Elias - August 19, 1984
Eddie was my client at GMHC. He was Hispanic, in his 20's. He lived in Chelsea, but somehow ended up in Montefiore Hospital in the Bronx. I think because it was the closest hospital that was taking AIDS cases.
He was so tired. His wife left him and moved to California. She was insulted that I asked if she was dumping him on GMHC's door. I visited him a few times. Contacted his Social worker. It was pretty hopeless in 1984. There was nothing really to be done but waste away. They would stabilize him and release him, which meant that if he kept his fever down for 48 hours, he would be sent home. It was an expensive ordeal for the hospital, providing a private room so as not to infect or be infected by other patients.
He was so tired. His wife left him and moved to California. She was insulted that I asked if she was dumping him on GMHC's door. I visited him a few times. Contacted his Social worker. It was pretty hopeless in 1984. There was nothing really to be done but waste away. They would stabilize him and release him, which meant that if he kept his fever down for 48 hours, he would be sent home. It was an expensive ordeal for the hospital, providing a private room so as not to infect or be infected by other patients.
Geoffrey Cox - July 15, 1988
Geoffrey -
Geoffrey was sort of a geek. He was quiet, thin with a great big smile, blond hair that was destined to thin quickly. He was very bright and very independent, almost furtive. When I met him at McGill, little did I know he was a world class scholar and athlete. From there he went to London to the London School of Economics. In the summer, he would intern at Wimbledon as a line-judge.
Funny - he went all over the world and ended up on the first floor of my coop on 11th Street, and an investment banker at First Boston. When he got sick, they did right by him and granted his disability status. He did well for a while, but over a few months, his body just ground to halt and he was ravaged with opportunistic infections.
Geoffrey was sort of a geek. He was quiet, thin with a great big smile, blond hair that was destined to thin quickly. He was very bright and very independent, almost furtive. When I met him at McGill, little did I know he was a world class scholar and athlete. From there he went to London to the London School of Economics. In the summer, he would intern at Wimbledon as a line-judge.
Funny - he went all over the world and ended up on the first floor of my coop on 11th Street, and an investment banker at First Boston. When he got sick, they did right by him and granted his disability status. He did well for a while, but over a few months, his body just ground to halt and he was ravaged with opportunistic infections.
Paul Rapaport - July 9, 1987
Paul -
Paul was truly a mensche. He could come across as a bit of a nebbish: short, receding hairline and a moustache that gave his face a definite mouse like appearance. All of this disappeared when he smiled, which he often did or when he put on his attorney face. The Rapaport's were leaders in the Jewish community and Paul brought this to the gay community. He and others pushed to purchase the building on 13th Street for the Gay Community Center. At the time they said we got a really bad deal on it: the old high school ran on a coal furnace and wasn't being used anyhow. The fact that we should pay for a vacant building that should have been torn down was outrageous. But, we did.
We met on some committee, somewhere. He and Tim Sweeney (Lamda Legal Defense) and Ginny Apuzzo (National Gay Task Force) met regularly for breakfast. Later others would join the breakfast: Ken Dawson (SAGE), Roger Macfarlane (GMHC).
He called himself a generalist in the community - not tied to a particular cause - and with a great deal of money and which he used throughout the community. Any worthwhile cause was considered and many owed they're birth to Paul and men like him.
http://www.paulrapoportfoundation.org/index.html
Paul was truly a mensche. He could come across as a bit of a nebbish: short, receding hairline and a moustache that gave his face a definite mouse like appearance. All of this disappeared when he smiled, which he often did or when he put on his attorney face. The Rapaport's were leaders in the Jewish community and Paul brought this to the gay community. He and others pushed to purchase the building on 13th Street for the Gay Community Center. At the time they said we got a really bad deal on it: the old high school ran on a coal furnace and wasn't being used anyhow. The fact that we should pay for a vacant building that should have been torn down was outrageous. But, we did.
We met on some committee, somewhere. He and Tim Sweeney (Lamda Legal Defense) and Ginny Apuzzo (National Gay Task Force) met regularly for breakfast. Later others would join the breakfast: Ken Dawson (SAGE), Roger Macfarlane (GMHC).
He called himself a generalist in the community - not tied to a particular cause - and with a great deal of money and which he used throughout the community. Any worthwhile cause was considered and many owed they're birth to Paul and men like him.
http://www.paulrapoportfoundation.org/index.html
Steve Perrine - June 13, 1996
Steve may be one of the reasons I moved to New York. He was a big ol' Texas boy with thick black Gaulic hair and shiny blue eyes - just a stunningly handsome man, even without the cowboy boots & jeans.
I can't even recall if I slept with Steve, or if I was just awestruck with beauty. I'm pretty sure we did sleep together some time when I was a visitor to the city and moving to the city was a step towards meeting and courting Steve or a man like Steve.
We hung out at Julius's. It was the first bar to have huge open windows onto the street. Inside was a long Victorian oak bar with a foot-rail of brass dachshunds protecting feet and briefcases. Opposite the bar was a grill which served one of the best hamburgers in the city. In the back were a few tables. It was a friendly neighborhood gay-bar: a good happy hour crowd that would meet and catch up on the news of the day; on a warm summer afternoon, there might be a couple of NYU undergrads flipping Frisbees across 10th Street; in the winter there would be coats hung three or four deep on the hooks along the wall.
On a weekend it would be busy all night as people came and went - the after work crowd, before dinner crowd, after theatre crowd, the late crowd, the night cappers … Sundays would bring the before- and after-brunch crowd.
Happy was my favorite bar-tender …
There was laughter and fun and even a some kissing. The old-timers were quick to remind the 'kids' that back in their day undercover cops used to come in and arrest people for soliciting if you so much as smiled at them.
The last time I was there was in the 90's and had become an old-timer myself. It was sad, pretty empty, only a couple of red-eyed old men, a couple of hustlers, a bouncer that looked at me like I was pervert.
I can't even recall if I slept with Steve, or if I was just awestruck with beauty. I'm pretty sure we did sleep together some time when I was a visitor to the city and moving to the city was a step towards meeting and courting Steve or a man like Steve.
We hung out at Julius's. It was the first bar to have huge open windows onto the street. Inside was a long Victorian oak bar with a foot-rail of brass dachshunds protecting feet and briefcases. Opposite the bar was a grill which served one of the best hamburgers in the city. In the back were a few tables. It was a friendly neighborhood gay-bar: a good happy hour crowd that would meet and catch up on the news of the day; on a warm summer afternoon, there might be a couple of NYU undergrads flipping Frisbees across 10th Street; in the winter there would be coats hung three or four deep on the hooks along the wall.
On a weekend it would be busy all night as people came and went - the after work crowd, before dinner crowd, after theatre crowd, the late crowd, the night cappers … Sundays would bring the before- and after-brunch crowd.
Happy was my favorite bar-tender …
There was laughter and fun and even a some kissing. The old-timers were quick to remind the 'kids' that back in their day undercover cops used to come in and arrest people for soliciting if you so much as smiled at them.
The last time I was there was in the 90's and had become an old-timer myself. It was sad, pretty empty, only a couple of red-eyed old men, a couple of hustlers, a bouncer that looked at me like I was pervert.
Luis Palocios - June 13, 1989
Luis -
I met Luis at St Luke's where he and his lover, Dennis Costa had planted themselves. They were both active in Integrity and managed to get it housed at St Luke's. Luis was a social worker & Dennis was in print production.
They were also active in the early days of AIDS. Luis was one of the facilitators of 800 Men - probably the first workshop don to change men's behaviors to safer sex practices.
Luis also facilitated the first support group for KS (Kaposi Sarcoma) patients. This was well before the virus had been discovered or the Western Blot test was developed, so we're talking very early on. He came to church to speak about his work with GMHC and raise awareness of the problems people were encountering. His groups were comprised of 10-12 men. Over a six month period he was having trouble stabilizing the group: every couple of weeks half of them would die, so every couple of weeks, groups would be combined. Still the requests outnumbered the available spaces. After combining groups six times, one of the client admitted, "You know, this is no disease for sissies …"
Over the next few years, Luis would spend most of his days volunteering at GMHC, and many evenings at GMHC fundraisers. He became fast friends with Judith Peabody in those days. Judith in addition to being a patrician fixture in New York Society, was also a therapist. She dedicated her professional skills as well as philanthropic acumen to the cause. She raised a great deal of money and held a great many hands.
Eventually, Luis came down with PCP (pneumocistus carinii pneumonia). This was when there were no therapies for HIV, it had barely been discovered. PCP took weeks to recover from, if you did recover. So men like Luis would lie in hospital tethered to poles dripping bactrum, balancing killing the infection and killing themselves, wasting.
The common wisdom was that you didn't survive PCP more than twice. Hal Mozley swore he would never be treated for PCP after the first time; he preferred to die at home.
But Luis was strong. Over a three year period he was in New York Hospital no less than three times with PCP. On his third stay at New York Hospital, like the previous, he was visited by Jessie McNab.
Jessie, in addition to being a devout Anglican and Curator of 18th Century Silver Objects an the Met, was also a self avowed witch, dowser and [?] practioner of Bach Flower Remedies. Now, delivering 'therapies' alternative or not was strictly forbidden in hospital, but she brought them to Luis and many others in hospital. Luis tells the story
"Jessie came to see me … She sat quietly for a while by my bed. Then she sat up and straight and looked me in they eye and asked, 'Are you ready to go?' I nodded. 'I thought not … so let's use this …' She pulled out a vial of some tincture and put a couple of drops under my tongue. She came by every afternoon. Between the bactrum and the Bache I beat this thing one more time."
I met Luis at St Luke's where he and his lover, Dennis Costa had planted themselves. They were both active in Integrity and managed to get it housed at St Luke's. Luis was a social worker & Dennis was in print production.
They were also active in the early days of AIDS. Luis was one of the facilitators of 800 Men - probably the first workshop don to change men's behaviors to safer sex practices.
Luis also facilitated the first support group for KS (Kaposi Sarcoma) patients. This was well before the virus had been discovered or the Western Blot test was developed, so we're talking very early on. He came to church to speak about his work with GMHC and raise awareness of the problems people were encountering. His groups were comprised of 10-12 men. Over a six month period he was having trouble stabilizing the group: every couple of weeks half of them would die, so every couple of weeks, groups would be combined. Still the requests outnumbered the available spaces. After combining groups six times, one of the client admitted, "You know, this is no disease for sissies …"
Over the next few years, Luis would spend most of his days volunteering at GMHC, and many evenings at GMHC fundraisers. He became fast friends with Judith Peabody in those days. Judith in addition to being a patrician fixture in New York Society, was also a therapist. She dedicated her professional skills as well as philanthropic acumen to the cause. She raised a great deal of money and held a great many hands.
Eventually, Luis came down with PCP (pneumocistus carinii pneumonia). This was when there were no therapies for HIV, it had barely been discovered. PCP took weeks to recover from, if you did recover. So men like Luis would lie in hospital tethered to poles dripping bactrum, balancing killing the infection and killing themselves, wasting.
The common wisdom was that you didn't survive PCP more than twice. Hal Mozley swore he would never be treated for PCP after the first time; he preferred to die at home.
But Luis was strong. Over a three year period he was in New York Hospital no less than three times with PCP. On his third stay at New York Hospital, like the previous, he was visited by Jessie McNab.
Jessie, in addition to being a devout Anglican and Curator of 18th Century Silver Objects an the Met, was also a self avowed witch, dowser and [?] practioner of Bach Flower Remedies. Now, delivering 'therapies' alternative or not was strictly forbidden in hospital, but she brought them to Luis and many others in hospital. Luis tells the story
"Jessie came to see me … She sat quietly for a while by my bed. Then she sat up and straight and looked me in they eye and asked, 'Are you ready to go?' I nodded. 'I thought not … so let's use this …' She pulled out a vial of some tincture and put a couple of drops under my tongue. She came by every afternoon. Between the bactrum and the Bache I beat this thing one more time."
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