This Year's Model

This weekend marked my 40th high school reunion. I decided not to attend the event, a decision I ended up regretting. The following is what I wrote on the reunion’s page on The Facebook:

I continue to hear stories from friends & acquaintances about the horrors of their high school years. The Husband is still bitter about HS & even today, finds his life leading in certain directions because of experiences during his 4 years at Lewis & Clark HS (class of 1968).

I enjoyed a happy & secure childhood & had a groovy time during my 4 years at Joel E Ferris HS, 1968-1972. I was involved in nearly every theatre & music activity. I traveled easily around the different sub-groups of high school: AV aids, nerds, jocks, greasers, druggies, band geeks, hippies, smart kids, teachers, debate team, 4H, & enjoyed an easy going relationship with the most popular people, you know who you are, don’t make me call you out by name, & of course,  I was quite at home with the drama nerds.

I went to every dance & prom, because I love to dance & because I was determined to make being gay unimportant or at least not tragic.

I give my classmates the credit for my good HS experience, for being friendly, open-minded, & occasionally willing to be naughty.

In HS, I wanted to work hard & train to become the best actor, singer & dancer possible with the resources available to me. My other priorities included getting loaded & getting laid. I was rather successful at both.

Now I regret NOT being at our 40th reunion. I am unemployed for the first time in 45 years. My Husband is just getting a new venture off the ground. Our lives don’t quite run in the black & we have made a game of spending as little money as possible & making big sacrifices. We got rid of our automobile & its monthly payments, insurance & upkeep, & purchased bicycles. We only dine out at “happy hour”, & we grow some of our own food. But travel, even to Spokane seemed out of the question.

Now, as you all celebrate, I wish that I had found a way to be there, even if I had hitchhiked, like I used to do in 1972.

I have deep affection for the group of us that went all the way through school together, grades 1 thru12 : Hamblen, Sacajawea, & Ferris. I would have really liked to have looked you each of you in the eye & heard about your life post-1972.

I would have welcomed the chance to shake hands & have a conversation with the idol of my youth, the distinguished screenwriter/producer- Harley Peyton.

As I mentioned in a message to childhood neighbor & school chum, Bruce Roberts, maybe there was a reason for my not making it to the reunion. There was always that chance that I would have had too much to drink, insulted someone, & made an unfortunate pass at someone else. At our 20^th reunion, & ended up smoking pot & having sex in the car with a former, then/now married classmate. Oh well… I never desired to be a role-model, not in 1972 or 40 years later.

I hope you all had a swell time & I will definitely see you at our 50th…  you will recognize me, I am the one with the really cool walker.

Taxes: Of life's Two Certainties, The Only One For Which You Can Get An Automatic Extension

It really is a sordid little tale, but quite telling of my life before & after. On Tax Day- April 15th 1974, I had my taxes done professionally for the 1st time. I was flummoxed by the collection of tax statements from various part time jobs & work/study at school & decided: “Fuck the expense… I can’t even read the instructions from the IRS booklet”. After HR BLOCK gave me the good news of a small return, I arranged to meet friends for drinks at Trader Vic’s on West Olympic Boulevard in L.A.

2 Hours after imbibing 5+ Polynesian style cocktails, & deciding that going “Hawaiian” might be just the thing, I found myself on a jet bound for Honolulu. Drunk & dim witted, I had written a bad check to the airline (you could actually pass a bad check in those days, before electronic balance checks & debit cards), & off I went into the wild blue yonder, bound for the tropics with no money & no luggage…just my wits & a toothbrush.

I arrived in Honolulu 6 hours later, sober & freaked out. I checked into the Holiday Inn using a Texaco Credit Card the parents had given me to use for automobile “emergencies”, but I had once noted that the card was good at a few hotel/motel chains.


After sleeping it off, & having prayed that I would actually wake up back at my Playa del Rey apartment, I considered the consequences of what I had done, but I was enchanted with pungent, tropical air of the island & I decided- “what the hell…I am in Hawaii!”


I didn’t think much of the Capitol city & wanting a more authentic Hawaiian experience, I took a municipal bus to the other side of the island & got off in a spot that looked more native, with the romantic name- Makaha (a favorite spot for surfers). I set up a little camp for myself on the beautiful white sandy beach, made up from towels stolen from the Holiday Inn. At sunset, a lovely lady in her 40s wearing a mu-mu, swept down the beach & plopped down next to me with the offer of a beer & a joint.

Marla was a refugee from Washington State, & with this in common, we started a nice long conversation. Marla was managing an apartment building near the beach & after hearing my sad story of how I ended up on the beach at Makaha, she offered me a vacant apartment for a couple of days. I ended up staying 5 days.


I survived by attending “happy hour” with complimentary hors' d oeuvres at the Makaha Golf Club, where I had befriended the middle aged & effeminate cocktail hour piano player. He had allowed me to sing while he played & to “pass the hat” (I actually had a hat) in the lounge. I entertained & bewitched the locals & tourists as a the little 20 year old with the big red afro & the repertoire of Broadway classics. I made more than $20 each evening that I was there. The rest of the time I spent on the beach.

On day 5, filled with dread & regret, I wrote another bad check & flew to L.A. Back at Loyola Marymount University, I had abandoned my assigned position of lightboard operator for the Theatre Department’s production of Racine’s Phaedra during tech week. I was put on probation & I took my punishment & humiliation like man. A man with a tan.


Years later, during a dinner conversation with my parents & their guests, I slipped about my visit to the Island State when the talk turned to vacations spent there. Me: “Well when I was on Oahu, I really had fun at the…, I mean, if I ever went, what I meant to say was…”  The parents were horrified, but somehow not all that surprised. The guests were now afraid of me. It was my only visit to Hawaii. I would love to return someday with the Husband. I think about Marla’s kindness, singing for my supper & my Hawaiian adventure on every Tax Day for the last 37 years.