Cowboy Ron - Fifty Years later

 

Me, Yesteryear's Old Time Photos Rehoboth Beach, DE June 2024

Me, July 1974 Provincetown, Mass

July of 1974 I made my first trip to Provincetown, Massachusetts.  I had heard so much about "P-town", the "gay paradise." 

I visited with my late friend Bob McCamley. I had planned to spend the week with him at a place called "The Ranch".  I knew P-town was VERY gay and even though both Bob and I are gay we didn't want to be with the.....how should I say this?  The stereotype swishy gays.  Well, what a surprise we had. "The Ranch" clientele was just that. Very gay. ULTRA GAY.  Not for us, thank you. All that "her" and "she" pronouns used in place of male pronouns. 

We spent one night at "The Ranch" then the next day we found a room at "Bob's Motel" on the outskirts of Provincetown.

Me sitting in the back of my friend Bob McCamley's pickup truck at Bob White's motel on the outskirts of Provincetown, Mass July 1974

The new accommodations were much better. Not so "ultra gay".  More like normal people who just happened to be gay. Thank you. By the way, if I'm offending anyone gay who is reading this who takes umbrage to my descriptions of "ultra gay", that on you friends. I use the "he" pronoun when I refer to a male and "she" when I refer to a biological woman. 

Well, the vacation still didn't work out quite as I had planned it. Bob immediately met "Brian" from Vancouver Canada and that was the last I saw of him. I was on my own. 

I did run into Bob and Brian in town one day (they were on their way to one of those singing piano bars which I hate, Broadway tunes "Annie! TOMORROW! TOMORROW!" I asked Bob if he could spare an hour or two to have his picture taken with me at one of those old time photo places that often show up in tourist destinations like Provincetown. Much to my surprise he could spare an hour (no more) and we had our picture taken. 

Me and my friend Bob McCamley 1974 Provincetown, Mass
(yes, he was a little annoyed that I took him away from his boyfriend Brian to have this picture taken)

After the photo was taken Bob took off with his paramour and I didn't see him again for another several days. I think he and Brian did grant me a lunch with them but otherwise I was solo for the remainder of our vacation in the fabled P-town. I didn't meet anyone nor did I partake in anonymous sex but I did thoroughly enjoy the ambiance of Provincetown which is beautiful, especially escaping from the heat and humidity of center city Philadelphia where I lived at that time. Subsequent years I visited Provincetown by myself except for three occasions when I took someone else with me. Of course they took off too, shortly after our commuter plane from Boston landed at the Provincetown airport. Remember that Bob Murphy and Brad Corrill? Yes, they were the two. I paid for their way too but that was my foolishness. I should have known better. Three times? Yes, I took Brad with me twice, once stiffed wasn't enough for me. 

You might ask why didn't Bill go with me?  Bill didn't want to travel to a gay resort. No way, no how. I did convince him one year but he wouldn't leave his Best Western hotel room. That was his one and only time visiting Provincetown. 

I hope to visit Provincetown one more time before I check out of this aging human body and return to the Spirit World. I'm pretty sure I can talk Pat into going with me. And I'm pretty sure he will stay with me and not go running off with someone else once we hit the ground in P-town. That's what I love about Pat, he likes being with me and I life being with him. Now Pat isn't one to go to a "gay" place either, he feels as I do with all that "gayness". That's for others to swish it up. And I'm happy for them if that's their thing. It's not our thing, thank you. 

These days I have a small group of friends mainly as a result of my advanced age (82), and.......well I guess it's all because of my age. Eighty-two year olds don't make many new friends now do they? No problem though, Pat and Glenn (Pat, he from Hamilton Canada and Glenn from Cathedral City California) visited me this past June where we had this old time photo taken of some serious old timers.....us!  And you know what folks?  I'm having the best time of my life now. 

Glenn, me and Pat June 2024 Rehoboth Beach DE

You know when I was young I used to make fun of older gay men, and the bars they hung out at ("wrinkle bars"). At that time in my Foolish Youth I would express out loud to my friends "What in the world do they do with their lives?" Now that I'm one of THOSE OLD GAYS I know. As Noel Coward famously said "Youth is wasted on the young." I was on of those foolish young folks. Oh boy, if I knew then what I know now. But then it's not supposed to work out that way is it?

Have a great day everyone and if you want to gay it up. Go ahead! I'm going to take my daily afternoon nap now.

Brad - Summer 1980

Continuing with my video blog memories series, this video is a compilation of my last boyfriend, Brad. Yes folks, I have had a long stretch between boyfriends. I never had another boyfriend until you know who in 2013 (check yesterday's blog).

I met Brad in the summer of 1980 at the Drury Lane bar in Philadelphia.  I didn't know it at the time I met Brad that he was homeless, but he was. He had been thrown out of his boyfriend's home and was staying temporarily with a married couple, who were friends of him and his boyfriend. 

At that time Bill and I were building our house in Downingtown, Pennsylvania, thirty-seven miles west of Philadelphia. Since the house wasn't completed, I rented an apartment at 2124 Spruce Street in center city Philadelphia so I could continue to walk to work at the Girard bank. Bill lived in our house in progress in Downingtown.

After spending the night with Brad at his temporary residence, he told me he was looking for a place to live........temporarily...... until he could find his own place.  I told him he could stay at my apartment until he found his own place.

It didn't take long for me to discover that Brad would never find his own place because he didn't have a job.  He also had a drug and alcohol problem.

I fell in love with him.  I thought I could save him.

Me and Brad at Bob McCamley's single wide in Georgetown, DE early in our relationship - when he still "loved" me - 1980

I arranged for a job interview for him. He showed up an hour late, drunk. I was mortified.

I was in love with him. I thought I could save him.

I overlooked his drug problem (uppers and downers and marijuana). 

I gave him money. 

I supported him.

I loved him.

I was a fool.

I asked him to go with me for my annual vacation to Provincetown, Massachusetts.  My friends Bob McCamley and his boyfriend Gino would be in Provincetown at the same time, as would our mutual friend Joe Murtha.

Brad, Gino and Bob in Provincetown, Mass 1980

While in Provincetown, Brad met a married couple and spent the night with them. That's when I discovered Brad also had another problem, he was promiscuous . 

I loved Brad. His actions hurt me terribly.  The pictures of us biking was after he returned from spending the night with married couple.

The happy photos of us on the sailboat ride was prior to him spending a night with the married couple. I can count on two hands (and maybe a foot or two) the times in my life that I've truly been extremely happy. That sail boat ride with our friends was one such time. Even when my friend Bob McCamley tossed our styrofoam cooler in the bay (and then retrieved it), was all fun.  

That week I experienced the extreme highs of a summertime romance and the extreme lows. 

When we returned home from our holiday in Provincetown, our relationship continued for a few more months. Brad said he was sorry.

Then one day I came home from work and Brad was in my rented apartment with a biker guy.  When I entered my apartment I asked the biker guy what he was doing there.  He said "What's it to you?  Who are you?"  I told him "I'm the person who is paying for this apartment and you can leave now".  He said he wasn't going to leave.  I told him he could leave on his own or I could thrown him down the stairs.  He left on his own.

After he left Brad and I had a furious row.  Brad felt I had embarrassed him.  I told Brad I wasn't renting a brothel for his tricks. Our arguing eventually escalated to the point where Brad, who was drunk, threw his arm against my throat and screamed at me to "SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"  He was choking me.  I couldn't breath.  I lost my balance and fell on the floor, Brad still choking me.  I don't think he realized he was choking me.  I was flailing about on the floor and my ankle hit the knob on the radiator, causing a cut and blood to shoot out. I couldn't catch my breath. All I could think was I didn't have a chance to take a deep breath before he started to choke me.

When Brad saw the blood he stopped choking me and took his arm away from my throat.  He then realized what he was doing.  He started to say her and over again "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"  

Sitting on the floor, I think we both realized how close we came to a tragedy.  

After sitting there a while and had a chance to think, I told Brad that as much as I loved him, our relationship would never work out. I had planned to leave Bill and have Brad move in with me.  What a big mistake that would have been.  My common sense seemed to have returned when I realized as much as I loved Brad, we could never live together.  He would destroy me.  

Brad had moved from his hometown of Cincinnati to Philadelphia to be with his boyfriend Gene, a bartender at a local Philadelphia gay bar.  Gene threw him out, which I now know why.  Brad's drinking and drug problem and promiscuity. 

As much as it hurt me I knew I had to part ways with Brad. He would drag me down with him. I was a fool in love. An old fool. At least I thought I was "old" at that time. Brad was only 26 years old. I was 37 years old. I thought I was a sugar daddy. Maybe I was. 

Me and Brad at The Cottage restaurant in Provincetown, Mass 1980

I bought a one way bus ticket to Cincinnati.  I gave Brad that bus ticket and a $100.  I watched him leave from my fourth floor window apartment as he walked down the street to the bus station. 

My heart was broken.  I loved him.  Why?  I cannot give you a reasonable explanation other than I felt a special connection with him.  He did like me at one time but later on he told me "I just fell out of love with you."  Hearing those words so casually fall from his lips hurt me as deeply.  I never know I could hurt other than physical pain could hurt as much. Again, I don't know why I would fall in love with someone who didn't love me, wasn't a responsible person, who was promiscuous and who was an alcoholic and drug addict. But I loved him.  Maybe I was reliving my youth, a youth I never had.  

Of course after Brad left, I regretted what I had done. I sent him dozens of letters begging him to come back.  He answered a few then nothing. 

The hurt I felt I thought I would never recover from. But I did.  But something had died within me.  I vowed never again to let anyone get that close to me. Never to fall in love with anyone again.  I loved and still love Bill but that was different.  Bill and I had an "agreement" when he asked me to move in with him that I was always free.  He would never cage or restrict me, as long as I was discreet.  Bill often said that you can't make someone love you.  I know that now. 

Years went by. I never heard from Brad again.

In 2012 I send Brad a Christmas card.  I often send Christmas cards to people I haven't been in contact with for years. Sometimes they send me one back, sometimes not.  Brad wrote back.

He suggested that he would like to visit Rehoboth Beach one more time before he died. Brad told me he had AIDS. He told me he wouldn't stay with me though but would prefer a hotel.  I didn't offer to pay for his hotel room.  He didn't come. I had long ago fallen out of love with Brad. I bear him no ill will but I wasn't about to pick up the tab again.

Brad - about 2013 at his home in Cincinnati, Ohio

I didn't hear from him for the next few years. Then I received a note from him asking me to call him.  I called him.  I could hardly understand him, his words were that slurred. He asked if I still had the "porn" picture of him.  And if I did could I send it too him. He wanted to show it to his friends. I had it. I sent it to him.  

Brad's "porn" picture which I took impromptu when we were staying at Angle's Landing in Provincetown, Mass 0980 - this picture was to posed. Brad sometimes walked around naked. The cat was the owner's cat (Angela) and Brad just picked her up to put her out and I just happened to have my camera handy - lucky shot - not posed - the best kind of photos!

A couple of years ago I received a phone call from a friend of his. He told me that Brad had died. 

I hope Brad had a happy life when he returned to his hometown of Cincinnati.  Later photos of him that his friend sent me show Brad smiling.  

Brad and his friend in Cincinnati, Ohio about 2013

Brad (on the right) with friends in Cincinnati, Ohio about 2013

Even though Brad and I had a rocky relationship I will always remember Brad's gentle nature. I think that's what I fell in love with, his gentle nature. And of course he was a pretty good-looking guy in his prime. I have to admit there was and still is a soft spot in my heart for him.  But it would never have worked out. But that summer, ah, that summer. 





Brad died September 17, 2014. Rest in peace dear Brad. Thank you for the good memories.You were part of my life. 

Dreams

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Just got up from my afternoon nap. I had an awful dream.

I usually don't remember the details of my dreams, but I often remember if my dreams were good or bad. This one was a bad one folks. BAD.

Here is my dream in all it's disturbing detail:

I was hanging around Casa Tipton-Kelly (our palatial home here in southern Delaware) and I got it in my head to bike to New England. Specifically Provincetown, my former vacation choice de jour during my Glorious Youth.  

I don't remember where Bill was but I think we were having some kind of disagreement and he wasn't speaking to me. This happened not infrequently when we lived in Philly.  We would have a disagreement and I would take off for the weekend to visit my friend Bob McCamley who lived near Rehoboth Beach, Delaware which is where I live now. By the time I returned home to our town house in Philly (Philadelphia, PA) Bill would have forgotten what our disagreement was about (usually something insignificant) and my anger would have cooled down. But this time I was already in southern Delaware when I decided to take of ON BIKE for Provincetown, Mass. And I wasn't going to tell anyone about it, which is what I often did when I left Bill in Philly for real back in the Seventies when we had our tiffs.

So there I am, in a major pout taking of on my journey of eight hours and twenty-seven minutes and 503.1 miles from Lewes, Delaware to Provincetown, Mass.

In my dream I don't remember much about my actual journey, only that it was long and I arrived late afternoon Saturday in Provincetown on my bike. No suitcases, backpacks or even a water bottle. Nada.  Just me, my bike and my now flabby body. No longer did I have my trim, tight, six pack abs on display to impress and possibly get me a free place to stay with "benefits."

As I am riding down Commercial Street in Provincetown (yes folks, the main street in Provincetown is called Commercial Street, one would think they would have named that street something more intriguing Provincetown being the Gay Capital of the East Coast and all).  

As I'm riding down the crowded with tourists Commercial Street I see a gay establishment along the side of the street. Probably something akin to "The Ranch" is where I stayed the very first time I visited Provincetown in 1974 when I was a young and desirable thirty-three year old gay man.

Me at Herring Cove, Provincetown, Mass 1976, back before my "pouch" (which you will NEVER see a picture of in this blog)

The proprietor of "The Ranch" (which is what we'll call this gay B & B for lack of a better description) motions for me to pull my bike in.  He is intrigued by my still remaining good looks (which is amazing after seventy-six years of a fairly stressful and adventurous life) and asks me to "stay awhile."  

"The Ranch", 198 Commercial Street, Provincetown, Mass
(when I did stay there in 1974 it was on the first floor to the right in a room called "The Harness Room")

Now I'm starting to lose the details of my dreams but I'll proceed the best I can with what remains of the details of this disturbing dream I just had about an hour ago.  

My "host" was dressed like the Jonathan Pryce character in "Game of Thrones", the High Sparrow.

Jonathan Pryce as the "High Sparrow" in "Game of Thrones"
(at least he wasn't making me walk "The Walk of Atonement")

Not a good sign.  He invite me to have a seat and relax after my long ride.  And a long ride indeed I did have. I do remember being very exhausted and thinking that I had to make the bike ride back the very next day (Sunday) to Delaware. That's a LONG bike ride folks. I wonder if I was on I-95 at any part of that ride. But I digress.

But here is what I remember about my dream. I needed a place to stay and the town was pretty full because of the holiday weekend.  I don't remember  what holiday but I do remember that lodgings would probably be slim pickens if I looked.  I don't remember if I had my Discover card with me.  

My host, the "High Sparrow"

said I could stay at his place but I would have to "perform a few functions."  Immediately my mind raced to imagine just what those "functions" would be.  Since I am a Good Boy at my core (and heart) I wasn't prepared to whore myself out just for a night's lodgings.

I never did find out in my dream what my "functions" were to be but I do remember clearly, VERY clearly where he wanted me to stay overnight.  It was a small stable like area of about two feet by five feet, separated by burlap bag curtains.  I went in but when I laid down my feet stuck out the burlap bag curtains, almost like I was advertising for "company for the night."  That's not me folks, never was and never will be. I have somewhat of a checkered history of doing things I wasn't proud of but whoring myself out wasn't one of them. And I wasn't going to start now.

Gay bathhouse private room - yes, I've been here. No straw on the floor and I kept my door closed ALL night.

As I emerged from my stable chute (and I think the ground was covered with straw) my shirt flapped open and my host, the High Sparrow saw my flabby mid-section and an immediate wave of revulsion washed across his face like a dark cloud passes over the sun on a sunny day.  I thought "uh oh."  I immediately thought that I should exit said premises and take my chances on paying for lodging somewhere else in Provincetown.  

The last part of my dream that I remember is that I am leaving my hay strewn stable with the burlap curtains (separating me from other stay overs, God knows what "functions" there were performing for such luxurious lodgings) and mounting my bike on Commercial Street with my flabby stomach  and heading east in search of cheap accommodations. Thankfully this is when I woke up.

I was exhausted. 

I felt dirty.

I felt like a flabby 76 year old gay man.

I felt like my Glory Time is over.

And here I'm blogging about it.  

I bet this is probably the strangest blog posting you've ever read but hey, this is my blog and this is my life.

Welcome to my world. 

 

Will I Ever Go Back To Provincetown?

Me in the back of my friend Bob's pickup truck, August 1974 at Bob White's Motel, Provincetown, Mass 

Back in the Seventies and early Eighties I used to spend all my vacation days in Provincetown, Massachusetts.  

The first time I visited Provincetown was in 1974.  I had heard a lot about Provincetown being the "Gay Mecca" from my late co-worker Don Lodge. I felt that I had missed out on all the "Gay Mecca" scene because I lived in Philadelphia, PA.  At that time Philadelphia was considered a pale imitation of New York City as far as the gay scene was concerned.

Being young and foolish (relatively), I thought I would grab this last chance of immersing myself into the Gay Disneyland of the East Coast.  

At 32 years old I felt I was past my prime gay attractiveness so I better make hay while the sun shined. Oh yes, I was brainwashed that if you were gay and over 30 years old you were washed up.  Oh how little did I know, witness the fact that I will soon be 75 years old and I am literally having the best time of my life now romantically and sexually.  Something I never would have believed way back there over forty years ago.  But I digress.  Back to the subject at hand.

I talked to my late good friend Bob McCamley about visiting Provincetown.  Bob had a pickup truck.  We were both butch.  What away to make an entrance into the gay Mecca, two butches in a pickup truck. 

Bob agreed to drive to Provincetown.  

He came by our townhouse in center city Philly one sunny Saturday morning and picked me up.  We were on our way!

To be continued:

Me and my friend Bob ready to depart Philadelphia for Provincetown, Mass August 1974

Brad, R.I.P.

Me and Brad in happier times - 1980

Yesterday I received an e-mail from Cincinnati. I did not know the person who sent this e-mail but we both knew Brad Corrill.  He informed me that Brad died September 17th.  Brad was 60 years old.

I met Brad in April of 1980.  We locked eyes at the Drury Lane Bar in center city Philadelphia.  Ironically that was the first and last time I was ever in that particular gay bar. I don't remember why I went in that night but I do know that my life changed forever when I met Brad.

Drury Lane Bar, Philadelphia, PA

I don't remember who started the conversation first but I do know that we both knew immediately we were attracted to one another, a lot.  We spent the night together at a place where he was staying temporarily.
Brad was homeless.

A few months earlier he had moved to Philadelphia from Cincinnati after meeting "Gene", a Philadelphia gay bartender who was visiting Cincinnati.  When I met Brad Gene had thrown him out and Brad was living with a straight couple (friends of Gene) until he found his own place.  

Brad had a problem because he didn't have a job or money.  I had an apartment that I had a lease on until January of 1981.  I had gotten the lease because Bill and I had sold our town house in center city Philly and our new home was under construction in Chester County.  Bill was staying at our house under construction.  I was still working in center city (I had asked Bill to take early retirement) and needed a place to stay until the construction of our house was completed.  I told Brad he could stay at my apartment on Spruce Street until he found his own place. Thus began the summer that I experienced the most extreme highs and lows of my life.  The summer that I was almost destroyed.  

Brad at "The Ranch"

My journal entry recording the drama that was our life back then so many years ago

I'll attempt to make this a concise story as possible while covering all the pertinent facts but I could easily write a novel of that summer. The most dramatic summer of my life.

I fell in love with Brad.  I thought he fell in love with me.  To me he was like a lost puppy.  A sweet, sensitive, funny and (of course) very attractive guy.  And he needed me.  I grew to need him needing me.  I was going to take care of him.  Big mistake. For you see the problem was that Brad was an alcoholic and a drug addict. We was weak. I thought I could save him.  Big mistake.

Brad at "The Ranch" - 1980

The first month or so we were both ecstatically happy. We were in our own world of bliss.  I seriously considered leaving Bill and starting a new life with Brad.  Big mistake.  

The first sign of a problem was when I arranged an interview for Brad with my real estate agent who was looking for a handyman.  I left work that morning to be at the real estate agent's office for Brad's appointment at 10:30 am.  10:30 came and went.  11:00 came and went.  I frantically called Brad.  When I got him on the phone he was slurring his words.  He was drunk.  He told me he couldn't make the meeting because he "wasn't feeling well."  He was drunk.  I was mortified.  So embarrassed.  

I forgave him.  I tried several more times to get him a job, all to no avail.  But still I said he could stay at my apartment until he found a job and his own place. Then one weekend I returned from our (me and Bill's) home in the country early.  I returned on a Saturday night instead of my usual Sunday night.  When I climbed the stairs to my fourth floor apartment on Spruce Street and opened the door I see a leather clad, bearded man who I did not know.  I asked him "Who are you?"  With a sneer on his face he looked at me and said "Who the fuck are you!"  I told him "I'm the person who is paying rent on this apartment and you can get out of here right now."  Mr. Butch Leatherman snarled "Who's going to make me?" Barely controlling my seething anger I said to him "If you don't walk down those stairs right now I'm going to throw you down those stairs." He took a measured look at me after hearing my "suggestion" and turned around and left.

2122 Spruce Street - my apartment top floor (fourth) with dormers

Interior of my "penthouse apartment" at 2122 Spruce Street, Philadelphia, PA

After he left Brad and I got into a furious argument.  Brad rarely argued but this time we were screaming at each other.  I highly resented him bringing strangers into my apartment and I also felt betrayed because I thought Brad cared for me.  I found out that night he didn't, but more about that later.  

Our argument continued until Brad jumped me and threw me to the floor with his forearm against my neck choking me, while he screamed "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

I couldn't breath.  He was choking me to death.  While I was flailing around on the floor trying to breath, my right ankle hit the turn on/off knob of the radiator heater by the wall. The force of the impact broke the skin and my blood began flowing from my ankle where I hit it on the radiator.  The sight of my blood brought Brad to his senses and he released his choke hold on my neck.  

While I was gasping for breath, he was now saying over and over "I'm so sorry Ron!  I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"  That was the night that I knew that I had to end our relationship.

That past summer I had taken Brad to Provincetown with me only to witness him taking off with a straight couple for a threesome.  He was bored with me.  I asked him what happened.  He said "I don't know Ron, I just fell out of love with you.  It just went away."  

Brad and I in Provincetown (whale watching excursion) - July 1980 - we did have good times

I thought I could make Brad love me again the way he did when we first met.  I took him with me when I visited my friend Bob McC. at his weekend place ("The Ranch") outside Georgetown Delaware.  All to no avail. All Brad was interested in was what Gene was doing.  Where Gene was.  It took me a long time to realize that I was just someone to use.

Brad and I at Bob McC's "The Ranch" near Georgetown, Delaware - when I still made him happy - 1980

That night I told Brad he had to move . . . back to his home in Cincinnati or else we would both be destroyed.  Brad had left my apartment once before.  He moved in with someone else only to be told to leave because of his drug habits and I suppose his propensity to bring strangers back home.  That's alright if you have your own place but quite another different story when you're a guest at someone's home (or apartment where I have the liability).  

The first time Brad left my apartment, I saw him sitting on a bench in Rittenhouse Square where I used to criss cross through when I went home after work.  I walked by him only to hear him say "Ron? Can I talk to you?"  He told me he needed a place to stay.  I loved him and didn't want to see him homeless, sleeping on a park bench in Rittenhouse Square so I told him he could stay at my apartment until he found someplace else to live.  

Brad meeting me for lunch at 8th and Chestnut Streets, Philadelhia, PA 1980

I was in love with Brad and wanted to "save" him.  But what I didn't realize, what I was so foolish to believe; was that I could win out over the drugs and alcohol.  I believed in a Hollywood ending to our story.  I kept thinking back to the first time I met Brad and how special that time was.  I wanted to believe those times would come again. I was fool.

My apologies for making this a very long blog posting but I'm doing a bit of catharsis here folks.  For you see folks, I never completely fell out of love with Brad.

The day after that evening when he almost choked me to death, I purchased a one way ticket for him to his home in Cincinnati and give him a hundred dollars.
  

Cincinnati, Ohio

I watched him walk up 23rd Street to the Greyhound bus station from the fourth floor window of my Spruce Street apartment with a heavy heart.  I was devastated because I knew I was sending away someone I loved deeply.  I truly believed I could turn his life around and we could live happily ever after.  What a fool I was but at that time that is what I truly believed.

Greyhound Bus Terminal - Philadelphia, PA

The days and weeks after he left I wrote him letter after letter, pleading for him to come back.  Who was the weak one now?  I have to give Brad credit because he knew our relationship would never work and he didn't come back.  He didn't answer my letters, he didn't call.  He ignored me. That was in the fall of 1980.

Thirty one years later I found his address and sent him a Christmas card.  I had since moved on with my life but was curious if Brad was still alive.  He was.  He sent me a Christmas card back.  That spring he sent me a litter hinting that he would like to visit but that I would have to pay for his transportation and also get him a hotel room.  That I wasn't going to do but it was nice to hear from him.  He was still living at the same place and the same person who he returned to in 1980.  I was happy for him.  The following November he sent me a birthday card.  Again, very nice of him. Brad was always the sweet and gentle soul.  Only thing was he wasn't in love with me like I was in love with him.  And that's alright, you can't make people love you.  It's either there or it isn't. I don't mean to make this all about me and whine but the fact was that I fell in love with Brad and he fell out of love with me.  These things happen.

Brad's birthday card

After Brad I vowed that I would never let something like this happen to me again.  It almost cost me my life and my life long relationship with Bill, someone who has always stood by me through the bad times and good times.  Bill, a man I grew to love.  I make no apologies for falling in love with someone else, the mind goes (at least mine does) where the heart goes.  Maybe there was some greater Power saving me.  I think Brad knew that we could never have a relationship.  He went home to someone he did love and his friends.  His sojourn in the City of Brotherly Love in that summer of 1980

Philadelphia, PA

didn't turn out the way he wanted it to.  He was always in love with "Gene."  I may have been a momentary diversion for him but his true love was always Gene and I should have known that but I choose to ignore that obvious fact.  

I had not seen a photo of Brad since that fateful summer.  Last night when I received that e-mail from his Cincinnati friend informing me of his passing, he also sent a link to Flicker. There were three photos of Brad.  I was warned by his friend that Brad hadn't aged well. I could see by the photos that he hadn't.  Looking at those photos made me sad but at the same time made me happy because I saw Brad smiling.  He was happy, he was among his friend, he was in his element.  

Brad and friend in Cincinnati - recent

I hope his passing was easy and he is in a wonderful place now.  Who knows Brad?  Maybe we'll see each other again under better circumstances.  But this I know, for a few brief shining moments in the summer of 1980 I knew pure joy.  Thank you Brad.

Brad at home

Below, a video of our July 1980 week long vacation in Provincetown.  We met our friends Bob Mc, Gino and Joe and his partner Bob.  All gone now.  Only memories.  I'm the last one standing . . . . again.

Throwback Thursday - September 1974

Me - Provincetown - 1974

Ah yes, I remember September 1974 just like it was yesterday.  Actually it was FORTY YEARS ago. I'm finished folks.  I don't know how much longer I can put off the inevitable.  This "Ron Show" doesn't go on forever your know.  But I do have good memories.  

In the Seventies I always vacationed in Provincetown, Massachusetts.  The Gay Disneyland as P-town was called back in those hallowed, disco-crazed days.  

At first I used to spend at least a week in Provincetown, staying at Angel's Landing on Commercial right in the center of Provincetown.  With one exception (Labor Day Weekend 1974 - the time this photo was taken by Bill) when Bill went with me, I always traveled alone.  Oh wait, I didn't always travel alone.  On three other occasions I took a "guest" with me (Bob M. one trip and Brad C. on two other trips).  Both didn't turn out the way I had planned.  Both of the guys, once they got into Provincetown, met someone else and took off with them until it came time to return to Philly (I was paying for the plane tickets) at which time they showed up on my rented doorstep. Ah yes, those were the days when I was played for a fool.  See, not all good memories but I had plenty of other good times to offset their betrayal.  


I loved Provincetown because of the geography, and the freedom.  Even though I was out at home and work, I still felt the yoke of homophobic oppression on me when I lived and worked in Philadelphia.  First time I walked down Commercial Street in Provincetown, I felt that total sense of freedom that straight people take for granted all the time.  

For many gay people, Provincetown was a source of unfettered gay sex.  Not for me, not that I'm a prude (far from it).  But the Bacchanal Sex Buffet just wasn't my thing, romance was (fool that I was). 

Back to reality.  Here I am today; sitting at my computer desk; fatter, older and grayer with sagging skin and a daily need for a nap.

Happy Throwback Thursday everyone.  I hope your memories are as happy as mine.

Throwback Thursday

Me - Bob White's Motel - Provincetown, Mass - 1974

Busy morning this morning folks.  Slow computer, so this is a quickie Throwback Thursday posting.  I may have already posted this photo before but it's worth posting again.  

This photo was taken at Bob White's Motel on the outskirts of Provincetown, July 1974.  My friend Bob McCamley and I visited Provincetown for the first time (the first of many subsequent visits of me).  

Our original place to stay was a place called "The Ranch" in Provincetown but when we couldn't stay there.  It was just too gay for us (beads around a canopied mirrored ceiling bed called "The Mary Todd Lincoln Room").  Bob and I were just too butch to stay there. So we hightailed it out of P-Town and stayed at the much more masculine Bob White's Motel.  After all, we did have an image to maintain . . . . at least then.

Throwback Thursday

Me sitting in the back of my friend Bob's pickup truck at Bob White's Motel in Provincetown, Mass - August 1974

My Throwback Thursday this week is a recently discovered photo of myself taken during my first visit to Provincetown, Massachusetts.  This photo was taken in front of Bob White's Motel. I'm sitting on my friend Bob McCamley's pickup truck.  We made the trip together.  

The date on the back of this photo is August 1974. Egads!  Forty years ago?  What happened?  Talk about time flying when you're having a good time (well, mostly good anyway), here is a good example. 

A little background history to this photo and our trip to Provincetown.  Forty years ago I was working at Girard Trust Bank in Philadelphia.  One of my co-workers had recently returned from a trip to Provincetown, Mass.  He was gay and he told me that Provincetown was THE PLACE TO GO FOR GAYS.  Up until 1974, the only vacation trips I had ever made was one to Canada in 1966 and one to visit Bill's hometown in Toccoa, Georgia in 1965.  

Me and my friend Bob getting ready to leave Philadelphia for our road trip to Provincetown, Mass - 1974

I was intrigued by my friend Don's recommendation to visit the gay Mecca of Provincetown so I made a suggestion to my friend Bob.  He was up for it.

Our only requirement was that we didn't want to be too gay.  I did my research and found a place to stay in P-town called "The Ranch."  I called and made our reservations.  

On the appointed day of our departure from my home in center city Philadelphia, Bob arrives with his pickup truck.  It was a bright, sunny Saturday morning.  The trip took just over eight hours.

Saying "Goodbye" to Bill - we're on our way!!!

We arrived Saturday evening in Provincetown on the main street which was PACKED WITH PEOPLE.  By the way, the main street is called "Commercial Street."  Interesting, one would think they would have named it something more in line with a Gay Mecca, say like Spruce Street.

"The Ranch" was located right in the center of Provincetown.  Wow.  Not what we had imagined, a bucolic setting in the country.  

We check in and found that we had registered with the gayest establishment in Provincetown.  There was so much swishing going on there with the residents that Bob and I got dizzy.  What really threw Bob was his room.  It looked like a whorehouse bedroom, with the canopied bed with red silk tassels dangling around and the mirrored top of the bed.  My room was a little butcher, called "The Harness Room." I had visions of a sling.  WE.HAD.TO.GET.OUT.OF.THERE. 

The next day I did some frantic searching and found a suitably butch motel on the outskirts of Provincetown.  That is where this photo was taken.  


Ah memories.  

This was just the beginning of our somewhat disastrous week.  I had planned to spend the week with my friend Bob but he had other plans.  One day in he met a twinkie from Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada.  I was on my own.  

My subsequent trips to Provincetown I made by myself except for one other disastrous trip when I convinced Bill to go with me.  He went but wouldn't come out of his room at the Best Western motel, the only other "butch" accommodation in P-town.  

Ah memories.