Showing posts with label gay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gay. Show all posts

March 18, 2018 - The film vault: 'Suddenly, Last Summer ...' the gayest or most homophobic movie ever?


It represented the work of some of the gayest talent in the history of Hollywood: Elizabeth Taylor, Montgomery Clift, Gore Vidal and Tennessee Williams. But was it, in fact, one big exercise in homophobia?

By Christopher M. MacNeil

“Based on the play by Tennessee Williams” is a film credit that usually warns a movie-goer that he’s about to have a gay time – literally. And “Suddenly, Last Summer” certainly lives up to playwright Williams’ trademark of sneaking in the gay in the riskiest of times and places.

This one, from 1959 and set in New Orleans in 1937 when homosexuality was not only taboo but also a criminal offense and mental perversion, is either one of filmdom’s gayest or most homophobic movies ever. There may be little room to argue that “Suddenly, Last Summer” would be critically trashed by today’s politically correct standards as a hate film that promulgates homosexuality with every bias, stigma and stereotype that can be imagined.

A synopsis of the film’s plot can be summarized with the single sentence that Elizabeth Taylor is traumatized after seeing her gay cousin cannibalized by his ex-tricks and Katharine Hepburn, as the unfortunate man’s regal but overly affectionate mother, sets sail on the cuckoo cruise.

Almost lost in the cinematic melodrama of interpersonal family conflict and secrets that are to be hidden at any cost is Montgomery Clift. As the sometimes daft shrink caught between both women – and in real life securely closeted when being openly gay was career suicide – Monty rides to the rescue, breaks through Taylor’s amnesia of her cousin’s demise and saves her from a life locked away in a state cuckoo’s nest. He has less success with Hepburn as she loses her already tenuous hold on reality and retreats to a time that died with her son the summer before.

Not even the A-list acting prowess of Taylor, Hepburn and Clift or the craftsmanship of fabled director Joseph L. Mankiewicz can lift this sappy soap to little more than an overly soaped soap. Although screenplay credit was given to Tennessee Williams, Gore Vidal did the actual writing, and the dialogue he concots for his characters is so laden with metaphors that the film-goer has to ask what country New Orleans is in. Litte wonder that Williams, in 1973, trashed the screenplay he said made him want to “throw up.” He also chastised the abuse of Taylor’s already established talent in a role that he described as “something evil.”

Even the New York Times, in its review of the film, dismissed it as “tedious talking and a terminal showdown that is irritatingly obscure” in the climatic closing scenes when Taylor’s amnesia is gradually broken down by moviedom’s mythical “truth” drug and Clift’s as the psychiatrist prodding Taylor toward recall of her cousin’s violent demise.

Nonetheless, despite critical denunciation, “Suddenly, Last Summer” was a hit where it counts – at the box office. On its release in 1959, the movie raked in domestic receipts of $13,897,500 – or $52,570,468 in 2015 bucks.

Taylor is indeed in unchartered waters in this one and unfamiliar in her role as Catherine Holly, a vulnerable and often weak southern belle who finds reprieve from total insanity in the form of amnesia after witnessing her cousin’s cannibalistic slaughter just weeks after being raped. Catherine is far removed from Taylor’s role just a year earlier as the sensuous and determined Maggie the Cat in another Tennesse Williams-inspired but far superior film, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”

Likewise for Hepburn. As Violet Venable, the super-rich matriarch bitch scheming to bury her dead son’s disgrace as a gay man with his corpse, Hepburn is out of step here from her earlier characters that defined her as a woman of integrity, guts and independence. Still, she and Taylor were both nominated for Best Actress Oscars – for some reason – but both lost to French actress Simone Signoret for “Room at the Top.”

Clift, as Taylor’s psychiatrist, Dr. John Cukrowicz – a Polish word meaning sugar, he tells Violet – is little more than a supporting player whose psycho-babbling to explain Catherine’s psychiatric demons is pseudo or surface Freudism at best.

What Williams wanted to achieve when he wrote this as a play that gave birth to the movie is a mystery, but it certainly was was not to send a positive LGBT message. “Suddenly, Last Summer” as a contemporary movie would be scathed – rightfully so – as vile right-wing homophobic propaganda to vilify, demonize and stigmatize gay people as dangerous sexual predators whose sole function in life is scouting the next victim of their criminal sexual deviance.

Williams enforces all that – we can only hope unintentionally or unwittingly – in his creation of Sebastian Venable, the movie’s central character whose face is never seen and whose lifetime of soliciting gay sex feeds directly into his death. Born to mega-millionaire parents whose wealth survives the ruin of the Great Depression, the privileged and pampered Sebastian is a self-described poet by occupation who apparently spends nine months a year working up to a single “Poem of Summer” – and he apparently needs the other three months of the year to write it.

Sebastian’s literary masterpieces are penned on international travels with mom Violet as his solicitous companion until, “Suddenly, Last Summer,” she gets laid up with a “hysterical stroke” and cousin Catherine is recruited to fill in as Sebastian’s traveling bud. And it is on a blistering hot day in Spain when Sebastian meets his fate with his cousin watching and, as Catherine’s brother George later characterizes it, Catherine goes off her rocker.

Shipped back home to New Orleans and apparently spilling the circumstances of Sebastian’s death to his mother, Catherine is quickly slapped by aunt Vi into a psychiatric institution. Enter Clift’s character of Dr. Cukrowicz, a psychiatric neurosurgeon transplanted from Chicago to a Louisiana state mental hospital. His specialty is treating the sickest of the sick with a then-new surgical procedure – lobotomy.

Violet, in desperation to safeguard her late son’s reputation, looks up the good doctor hoping he will latomomize Catherine, thus securing her son’s untarnished reputation. And, as leverage to get her way, Vi dangles the inducement of a $1 million grant to the cash-strapped state hospital where Cukrowicz works.

Although Catherine has buried Sebastian’s fate in the deepest depths of her memory, she hasn’t forgotten that both she and aunt Vi accompanied the globetrotting Sebastian as “decoys” who “procured” for him. We figure out soon enough the women solicited men to get it on sexually with Sebastian.

The film meanders through confrontations between Taylor and Hepburn while a befuddled Cukrowicz stands by and looks on passively, there’s a failed suicide attempt by Catherine and then the undramatic and unfulfilling climax in which all is revealed. The short of it: a troop of Sebastian’s ex-tricks and their friends looking to cash in chase the poor man down, overwhelm him and literally eat him.

We are left at movie’s end with Catherine apparently restored and whole, back on her rocker and smiling glowingly after poor Violet, her slender thread to reality broken by Catherine’s recall, has retreated to a time when all was perfect in the world that only she and Sebastian occupied. Their world, centered in a sprawling mansion on a sprawling estate, is far from majestic and instead is an unsettling backdrop in the film. At Sebastian’s insistence, the grounds of the Venable estate have been dug up and remade to look like Earth when it was first created for some reason, looking like something “a little frightening” in Cukrowicz’ opinion.

“Suddenly, Last Summer” fails on far too many levels, from the adjective-laden dialogue and the misuse of some of the industry’s greatest talents to the unsatisfying and predictable anti-climactic climax. So lame and tedious is the dialogue that the film’s most memorable line comes from Catherine’s brother, George, visiting his sister with their mother for the first time since Catherine was institutionalized. “I’m so nervous I could jump out of my skin,” Catherine’s mother tells Cukrowicz. “Well don’t, Mama,” George sheepishly mutters.

In supporting roles, Mercedes McCambridge as Catherine’s mother and Gary Raymond as brother George do admirably with the material they’re given. Their characters, introduced initially as gold diggers, are somewhat redeemed in the film’s closing sequence with their only objective then being to get Catherine de-institutionalized, away from Aunt Vi and back home.

“Suddenly, Last Summer,” if produced and released today, would likely – perhaps justifiably – draw picket lines for its distorted and demonic characterization of gay people while being hailed by religious and pro-family extremists as an example of the threat gays present to society and children. Through Sebastian Venable, gay men are presented as sexually insatiable predators, even pedophiles, whose only desire in life is to stalk their next sexual victims and seduce them with the promise of a financial payoff. A gnawing and unsettling feeling we get from the movie is that Sebastian got what he deserved, a premature and bloody end of a life dedicated to physical satisfaction of a sexual perversion.

Unless “Suddenly, Last Summer” appeals to the homophobe or as a guilty pleasure, skip it and catch Taylor in one of her superior roles, as Maggie the Cat opposite Paul Newman in “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” another film with gay insinuations. “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” unlike “Suddenly, Last Summer,” at least doesn’t bash gay people and whip up stigma and demonization in hefty servings on a silver platter.

March 18, 2018 - The film vault: 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,' latent homosexuality and loads of mendacity

Brick Pollitt risked being pegged as weak and less than a man when he ventured into territory that was unexplored at the time – the heart of a man.

By Christopher M. MacNeil

A dysfunctional family before dysfunctional was a word, greed and avarice, alcoholism and “clicks,” smoldering but repressed sexuality, latent homosexuality – and lots and lots of mendacity.

All those things and more are the ties that bind the Pollitt family in the 1958 film version of playwright Tennessee Williams’ smoldering stage play “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.” Who would care today if Brick and pro football buddy Skipper had a bromance going, and would anyone blame Maggie the Cat if she jumped off the sizzling hot tin roof and into the bed of her husband’s gridiron hero? Tame stuff by contemporary mores, but steamy and scandalous material for a conservative and sedate 1950’s America.

Nonetheless, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” was a critical success with nary a bad review and, produced on an estimated budget of $3 million, hauled in a box office of more than $17 million domestically and $25 million worldwide – the equivalent today of nearly $140.5 million and more than $206.6 million, respectively.

Yet an underlying commentary of the film went ignored by movie critics at the time if it was even considered at all, perhaps as taboo or too risky, namely the challenge to the social definition of masculinity and what was – and wasn’t – expected of a man. That commentary, ignored and not considered in 1958, remains as pertinent today as it did then, nearly 60 years ago.

From that point of view, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” is Paul Newman’s vehicle from opening to final scene. We first see Newman’s character of Brick intoxicated and poised to reclaim a lost glory from his high school days by jumping high hurdles in an empty athletic field at 3 o’clock in the morning. Against a backdrop of imagined cheers of onlookers long since gone, Brick clears three hurdles before crashing down onto the fourth one and breaking his ankle.

Flash forward to Brick in pajamas on a sofa in a bedroom of his daddy’s majestic Mississippi mansion and nursing what we know to be yet another drink, a crutch straddled over his chest. The crutch comes later in the film to be symbolic of Brick’s other crutches – on alcohol, self-disgust over his inaction in football buddy Skipper’s suicide, on the walls he’s erected to keep wife Maggie the Cat at arm’s length and, above all, on his pain of being owned by Big Daddy instead of being loved as a son by a father.

Enter wife Maggie, played flawlessly by a sultry and drop-dead gorgeous Elizabeth Taylor in what may well be her first bona fide role as a grown-up actress after a seemingly effortless transition to adulthood from child player and teenage ingenue.

Brick and Maggie are at Big Daddy’s mansion with Brick’s older brother, “Brother Man” Gooper, and his wife, “Sister Woman” Mae, who are circling in to claim their share of the Pollick spoils while awaiting news if Big Daddy is dying. He is, and his legacy to his kin is an estate valued at nearly $10 million – $82.6 million in today’s currency – and some of the richest acres in the whole of Mississippi.

We learn quickly that Brick and Maggie don’t share a bed and are at odds for reasons not then disclosed. Maggie, sexually frustrated and childless, is desperate to re-ignite her passionless marriage to a husband who has abandoned his job as a sportscaster to take up “the occupation of drink,” as Maggie calls it. For his part, Brick seems resigned to a life forever tied to a wife he “cannot stand,” as failed owner of the defunct Dixie Stars pro football team and drowning his life’s permanent state of “mendacity” as a full-time alcoholic. As he professes to Big Daddy, Brick values himself as “not worth the cost of a decent burial.”

As the drama unfolds, Brick is alternately at war with Maggie and Big Daddy – and himself as he hints at the nature of his relationship to Skipper, a classic Tennessee Williams hint of homosexuality. But Newman, in a superlative turn that earned him his first Oscar nomination in a respected acting career, plays Brick as a man mortally wounded by the loss of an intense emotional relationship with someone who also happens to be a man.

An implication can be derived that the relationship between Brick and Skipper was not sexual but intensely emotional and filled Brick’s emotional void of a paternal role model and love. That impression seems validated as Brick, baby-blue eyes moistened with tears, confesses to Big Daddy his “disgust” at himself for failing to rescue Skipper from a suicidal nosedive out of an 11th-floor window of a Chicago hotel, and, later, as he crumbles in emotional devastation in his ultimate confrontation with Big Daddy, wrapped up by Brick’s profession, “I wanted a father who loved me.”

As Big Daddy, Burl Ives brings a commanding screen presence to the role. Born before the start of the 20th century, Big Daddy is a product of his time, a man defined by the social dictate that a “real” man works and provides for his family and whose worth is measured more by his material acquisitions and less by his humane and emotional composition. In Big Daddy’s world – and in Brick’s to a lesser extent – men don’t cry and emotional vulnerability is a weakness.

Facing his own mortality and his son’s emotional ruin, Big Daddy is caught between the dictates of manhood and masculinity and risking vulnerability by taking his son’s outstretched hand. In the end, the father takes what we hope is the wiser choice that will leave his son a legacy more enduring than blue stocks and bonds and strengthens Big Daddy’s acceptance of his imminent death.

At the same time, Maggie jumps off her hot tin roof into the lie of “an announcement of life.” A child is coming, “sired by Brick out of Maggie the Cat,” she proclaims to a family caught off guard. But Maggie’s lie is about to become truth, we are led to believe, after Brick counters Sister Women’s declaration that Maggie is lying. “No!” Brick protests. “Truth is something desperate, and Maggie’s got it.”

Then, in the closing scene before the credits role, we are left with the certainty that Brick and Maggie, alone and behind the locked door of their dimly lit bedroom, are going to give truth to her lie of a coming life.

As bold as “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” was as a film, it apparently was watered down significantly from its original Broadway production as a play. Newman reportedly was not fully satisfied with the movie treatment of Brick’s relationship with Skipper and pushed for a fuller – and more candid – exploration.

The film also opened the door for Taylor to the more daring and provocative roles that defined her as one of Hollywood’s most acclaimed and respected actresses of the 1950’s and 60s. “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” also came with a dark footnote for Taylor. During filming, her third husband, Michael Todd, was killed in a plane crash. In spite of that – or despite it – Taylor got her second Oscar nod as best actress. Another footnote is that Taylor was cast for the role over Barbara Bel Geddes, the actress who originated it on Broadway. Bel Geddes would have to wait 20 years before she landed what become her career’s signature role as Miss Ellie, matriarch and moral compass of another dysfunctional family, the Ewings of television’s “Dallas.”

Although it was nominated for six Oscars, including best picture, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” was apparently too steamy for conservative Academy voters at the 1959 awards ceremony. They passed the film in every category, each time in favor of the fluff – and safety – of “Gigi.”

Multidimensional and layered with multiple themes of manhood, family, sexuality, certain death and mendacity, “Cat on a Hot Tin” roof speaks to the definition of manhood almost 60 years after its release. Brick Pollitt risked being pegged as weak and less than a man when he ventured into territory that was unexplored at the time – the heart of a man. In the end, he did not sacrifice his identity as a man or his masculinity and gave men of his day and those from generations to come the strength to be emotionally vested in another man, to want to be loved, to feel pain – and to cry.

March 18, 2018 - The film vault: Before 'Brokeback Mountain,' there was 'Making Love'


Christopher MacNeil reminds us about the groundbreaking LGBT themed movie, its impact and its legacy.


Everyone come up for air.

Instead of more talk about a presidential administration that might be the most corrupt in U.S. history, lets come up for air — let’s go to the gay movies.

More than 20 years before the groundbreak and enormously successful “Brokeback Mountain” and lead actors who could have swooned even the most homophobic of straights, there was “Making Love” and its married leading man first exploring and then accepting his homosexuality. While arguably a pioneer in the gay-themed movie genre, less arguably, “Making Love” was a film before its time and, indeed, may have been a victim of its time.

Putting aside the audible groans of some moviegoers seeing two half-naked men in bed locked arm-in-arm in prolonged and passionate kissing, “Making Love,” made in 1981 and released the next year, was neither a commercial nor critical success. At the box office the film recovered $11.9 million of its $14 million production budget and was in U.S. theaters a mere 49 days. The movie’s title song, written by Burt Bacharach, Bruce Roberts and Carole Bayer Sager, was a runaway chart hit for singer Robert Flack, however, but not enough to translate into box office gold.

“Making Love” also generated little attention from mainstream movie critics with perhaps the most influential being Roger Ebert. He dismissed the film as “essentially a TV docudrama, in which the subject is announced loud and clear at the outset and there are no surprises. People have described the movie …in one sentence as ‘Kate Jackson finds out her husband is a homosexual,’ and they haven’t left out much.”

Unseen political and social forces may have at work against the film as well. In 1982, the conservatism of the Reagan administration had taken power just a year earlier and already had taken root. Any hope for the fledgling gay rights movement to go national and had begun in the more liberal 1970s had been effectively sequestered.

More insidiously, however, an ominous shadow had begun to darken America’s landscape by way of an emerging health crisis that threatened the very survival of the LGBT community – a recently identified disease, fatal to everyone who contracted it and with a name that spread fear and paranoia across the country: AIDS. That AIDS was first identified and contained among gay men and threatened the general, or straight, population effectively quashed hope for LGBT equality by forcing anyone suspected of being gay back into the closet.

But political and social commentary on the state of the gay union are spared in director Arthur Hiller’s movie. He instead confines his subject matter to the impact of homosexuality on a traditional heterosexual marriage when the husband begins to experiment with his long suppressed same-sex urges and ultimately surrenders to his sexual orientation.

Michael Ontkean is closeted and conflicted husband Zach Elliott, a doctor married eight years to Claire, played by Kate Jackson, a high-powered television executive. Zach and Claire are the embodiment of what would be one of the 80s’ catch phrases for up-and-coming power couples: DINK (dual income no kids). Their seemingly idyllic marriage lacks only the kids and a white picket fence to complete their Norman Rockwell snapshot. Their greatest problem seems to be catering to the frequent demands for attention by an elderly and lonely neighbor, Winnie, played with class by British actress Wendy Hiller.

Zach’s same-sex curiosity is awakened unexpectedly by Bart McGuire who walks into the doctor’s office with a case of hypochondria. Bart is a struggling writer and published author who, we are led to suspect, is also a promiscuous gay man. Played to stud perfection by Harry Hamlin, then a relative newcomer, Bart has left behind him a string of broken hearts with an express lane of one-night stands and always keeps himself a safe distance from emotional attachments.

His same-sex curiosity peaked by Bart, Zach nervously checks out a gay cruising spot and lands a guy who’s interested in him. But Zach quickly withdraws when the man he picks up begins to caress Zach’s leg, and it is soon thereafter that Zach ends up in Bart’s living room. After some awkward and contrived dialogue about hidden sexual desires, Zach uncharacteristically and boldy approaches Bart and the two are soon together in bed locked in each other’s arms – and lips.

All the while, unsuspecting wife Claire senses an unidentified wrong with her marriage. Communication with Zach is all but muted and sex between them is nonexistent. Claire forces Zach’s hand over dinner one night in the film’s climactic scene when husband comes clean to wife – and the film quickly advances to its final frame.

Despite Claire’s effort to save her marriage, the union is deemed irretrievable by Zach. By then, he has resigned himself to not having the kind of relationship he wants with Bart and that staying married to Claire would deny her a martial sex life and probably what she wants most – a child.

Their marriage over, Zach and Claire are reunited years later at the funeral of their one-time neighbor Winnie. Zach has gone on to a long-term relationship with another man and a staff position as an oncologist at the prestigious Mayo Clinic. Claire has landed her own success: a seemingly solid marriage to a faithful and heterosexual husband, the white picket fence of a sprawling house and the one thing she wants most: a child.

And Bart? The last we see of him is his silhouette against the darkness of a seedy alley in a gay cruising district and presumably to Bart’s to his next one-night conquest.

While “Making Love” fails to provide social and political commentary on being gay at the onset of the 1980s, it also does not treat its subject matter offensively by presenting gay men as either effeminate queens or sexual predators. Its focus, despite diagloge that is sometimes contrived and superficial, is limited to one man’s awakening to a basic truth within him and its impact on his marriage and very life.

Despite any conservative political and social dynamics that might have undermined it, “Making Love” seems not to been career breakers for its three lead actors.

Ms. Jackson came to the film with an already established actress, first with a cult following from her role as the often seen but never heard ghostly apparition Daphne, Quentin Collin’s unrequited and lost love interest in ABC-TV’s gothic daytime soap “Dark Shadows” and, shortly thereafter, as the wife of a cop in ABC’s primetime series “The Rookies.” But her role as the “smart” one of “Charlie’s Angels” solidified Ms. Jackson’s acting personna and celebrity status and within a year of “Making Love,” she landed her third hit TV series, CBS’ “Scarecrow and Mrs. King.”

Ontkean also brought to “Making Love” some name recognition from his role as a rookie cop, coincidentally, on “The Rookies.” Ontkean emerged later in the decade in a starring role on ABC’s critically acclaimed but surreal “Twin Peaks” and from there went on to star in a number of television miniseries.

Hamlin would find probably his most recognized alter ego in the late 80’s to mid 90s as irrasicble and over-sexed attorney Michael Kuzak on NBC’s “LA Law.” But Hamlin, in a 2014 interview, reflected that playing a gay character probably put a “ruffle” in his film career even though he had no regrets. On the face of it, Hamlin may be right. “Making Love” was only his second – and last – starring feature film.

April 14, 2017 - A curious married man finds sex with another man, and who pays when they're discovered?

A married man curious about sex with another man cheats on his wife and daughter …and who pays when his long-term sexual affair moves from the shadows into the light?
By Christopher Turner
A man’s libido – his sex drive – is sometimes tamed by age when his sexual experiences become numerous enough that he can look back and ask if he left anyone injured or damaged in his quest for sexual fulfillment.
Another observation – just as relevant – is how his sexual conduct reflects on his ideal of being a man.
What are the costs, and who pays, when a man who conducted himself as heterosexual into adulthood caves to his curiosity about sex with another man? Are both men complicit in a deception when the curious one is married and has an infant daughter? And who is to “blame” for the fallout when the deception comes out of the shadows into the light?
It had been an especially rough work week for one of the men he pulled into a city park on an early Saturday morning more than 22 years ago. The park was popular and frequented for its extensive and scenic wooded area and forestry – and also had a notorious reputation as a hot spot for gay cruising and anonymous sex carried out under the cover of thick foliage. But the man that morning had no plan for sex and instead needed some time for solitude before the cruisers arrived for their search for sex.
The man barely noticed and gave no mind to another man sitting alone in his half pick-up truck, the only vehicle parked in the early morning hours. The man who just arrived parked his car, got out and walked into the forested area to begin his walk to solitude. He was about a half-mile into his walk and sitting on the trunk of a huge fallen tree when he heard the snap of a stick breaking beneath someone’s foot. Turning, he saw the man in the pick-up truck following some 50 yards behind.
“Good morning,” he said to his follower. The man moved closer and returned the greeting as he crouched into a stooped position near the man he’d followed into the woods. The men exchanged surface talk and pleasantries briefly – beautiful morning, early enough in the day to have some quiet time before the weekend park crowd descended. The talk took on significant meaning when the man who was followed into the woods asked the other, “So what brings you out so early?” ‘How about a blow job?’ the other man answered with a nervous edge to his voice.
Assured that the man who solicited him wasn’t an undercover cop, the man being asked had the other man lean against a tree and watched as he lowered his pants and underwear. It was very evident the man seeking relief needed it. He left the park sexually satisfied and complimented his server: “You do that very nicely – better than a woman.” When it was done, the men did not exchange contact info, and the man who relieved the other left with the assumption that this was just another episode of random sex and that he would never see the other man again.
But he did, just a week later at a service station. As he had a week earlier, the man who solicited the other man whispered discreetly in the cashier line, “How about again?” That time, the two went to the apartment of one of the men. The one who the week before sought oral gratification was named Ron and it was his first same-sex encounter, he said, after “years” of “wondering” what sex with another man is like. There would be uncountable ones to come between the two men over the next 12 years as they entered into a long-term relationship that, initially, was agreed to be only for the purpose of “s**king and f**king.”
Six years into the arrangement, Ron announced after sex with the other man that he’d gotten married a year earlier. After some discussion, both men agreed to continue their sexual relationship with precautions: Ron, when he needed sex with a man, would be the only one to initiate contact. Two years later, when both were to have sex for the first time in the new house Ron and his wife had built, Ron hesitantly said he had a 2-year-old daughter in the house and that they “had to be quiet” if the other man didn’t have a problem having sex with a married man. The daughter was upstairs asleep. Again the men talked about the risk to Ron of being “caught,” what and how much he had to lose and the urgency of absolute caution and discretion. And again both men agreed to continue their sexual liaisons.
The measures of safety and precautions worked effectively the following six years – until Ron entrapped himself. Drunk one night, he dialed his wife’s cellphone instead of calling the other man and blurted out an invitation for “some s**king and f**king.” A day later, Ron, panicked, called the other man with a plea not to talk to his wife if she called him.
She didn’t.
The call, more than 10 years ago, was the last contact between the two men. Just as Ron had arrived in the other man’s life so unexpectedly, he was just as unexpectedly gone.
In the ensuring years, the man Ron initially approached was naturally anxious – with some degree of fear and shame – about what happened to Ron, if his marriage survived or if he lost both his wife and daughter.
Little more than a year ago, to try to find some reconciliation and peace, perhaps closure, the man launched a public records search of Ron. He found some hope – some redemption – by verifying and then confirming that Ron’s marriage apparently survived what had to be a crisis of love and commitment. Ron, his wife and their daughter are now believed to live in a small rural community in another state, away from the pace – the temptation? – of the large cities that Ron always detested.
For Ron’s former sexual partner, his role in deceiving a wife and child with a 12-year relationship has been defined by indefensible conduct. Ron clearly was duplicitous in not disclosing his roles as husband and father to his male partner. But the latter was equally liable in the deception by continuing the affair even after Ron came clean. On a deeper level, Ron’s old “f**k buddy” has speculated that his part in the affair was a shameful disservice to the ideal of what a man should be.
But, as there predictably was to Ron’s wife and perhaps entire family, an injury is indelible to the man who gave sex and accepted it from Ron. From the start of their relationship, both men understood without saying that the only reason for their affair was sex. There would never be declarations of love or dreams about a life together.
But for the man Ron first approached more than 22 years ago, the sweet of the memories is bitter with the reality – perhaps selfish – that he came to love Ron somewhere along the way and that he misses the man who made him feel wanted and needed. No one has replaced Ron since.
Author’s note: This non-fiction essay is based on the personal experience of the writer.

March 19, 2017 - A homophobic gay man, alcoholism and their fatal outcomes

By Christopher M. Turner
Freelance vlogger
Jim died in August 1993 at age 29, his decomposed body found in a closed garage where it lay for a week during a sweltering Midwest heat wave. His tortured life over, Jim was believed to be the second victim of years of his heavy drinking that his ex-wife has always maintained was “caused’ by her husband’s shame and refusal to acknowledge and accept himself as a gay man.
In 1988, five years before his death, Jim was driving drunk in a nearby county and struck and killed a 30-year-old mother out for an early evening bicycle ride. She is the first known fatality on Jim’s road of destruction. Jim served four years in prison for drunk driving resulting in death and was on parole less than a year when he died. With his death, Jim was thought to be the second casualty of his own making.
But a third victim was identified weeks after Jim’s death as the stifling heat of summer yielded to a cooler autumn and as relatives assimilated to their lives without Jim. The third of Jim’s casualties met a violent and bloody end in his own bed that he shared with Jim one night, a 35-pound dumbbell crashed repeatedly into his chest and skull, a murder that police said Jim carried out in a drunken rage after a night of sex with his victim.
Jim’s relatives vehemently decried investigators’ conclusion that Jim was a bloodless killer and accused police of targeting a dead man simply to get an unsolved murder case off their books. Family members also rejected a coroner’s conclusion that Jim died by his own hand, a suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning in the closed garage of a sister’s house. The keys of a car in the garage were in the ignition switch and still in the start position and the car empty of fuel when Jim’s body was found.
Jim’s relatives instead attributed his death to a heart attack despite the lack of medical evidence.
Today, nearly 24 years after Jim’s death, one of his acquaintances cannot remember when or how the two met. But the acquaintance remembers well two impressions that were quickly formed: that Jim was never really serious about not drinking and that he was either dangerously homophobic or, possibly, so tightly closeted that the extremity of Jim’s self-loathing bordered on the psychotic.
Jim and his friend sometimes went to the same meetings of a 12-step recovery group for alcoholics, and Jim occasionally suggested after meetings that the two go drinking at nearby bars, one of them a known gay establishment. The friend always declined. Riding with Jim in a car was sometimes a drive of paradoxes for the friend. Jim often singled out men walking on the street as “f**king faggots” while, other times, Jim noticed other men and speculated about their sexual endowment.
The acquaintance’s suspicion that Jim might be a self-hating gay man who had not come to terms with his sexual preference was validated one day when Jim, drinking but not yet drunk, made a sexual advance. The friend wasn’t interested. By then, he had become alarmed at the the seriousness of Jim’s drinking. Jim, his sexual move rejected, reacted angrily. “F**kin’ p*ssy. Whadda ya’ think friends do?’
Jim’s wife was older with a teenage daughter from an earlier marriage. She sounded genuine in her hope, a desperate one, that her husband stop drinking before he “kills himself or someone else.” Some two years after Jim’s wife and friend first met, Jim was in the county jail’s drunk tank for driving while intoxicated.  That  night Jim’s wife shared for the first time her theory about the “cause” of her husband’s drinking and the toll it had taken up to then. “He’s either bi or gay and can’t stand himself,” she decreed. The toll of Jim’s drinking up to then was his job for excessive absenteeism caused by severe hangovers and crushing credit card debt from charging bar bills and motel rooms he used often to sober up and took men for sex.
While he was on probation for the drunk driving conviction, Jim – drunk again and in violation of his probation – finally came out to his wife, or so he thought. He’d found a man with whom he wanted to live, and Jim argued that being honest with his sexuality and living with the man he loved would stop his drinking.
Despite her own despair of losing her husband, Jim’s wife gave him her blessing and cooperation in his effort to begin his new life. She was better than her word: not only did she find an apartment for her husband and his lover, she furnished and decorated it.
Jim’s new life as an open gay man living with a man he loved did not “cure” his alcoholism, of course. In short time, Jim’s lover was a frequent overnight guest at the ex-wife’s house because he could not endure another endless night of fighting and cleaning up Jim’s vomit.
Less than a year into his relationship with his lover, Jim drove to a bar in another county. It was that night that Jim, too drunk to see and drive, struck and killed the cyclist. Little was heard about Jim during the four years he was in prison. But, after being paroled, Jim resurfaced in his hometown, seen frequently in public parks and bars notorious as gay hangouts and cruising places for anonymous sex. A rumor, later confirmed, was circulated that one man known as a people user took Jim into his home for a place to sleep and drink in exchange for sex on demand.
Despite the arrangement, Jim was a regular patron at gay hook-up places. A bartender recalled weeks later that Jim had been in the bar, “half-drunk” and left with another man. The bartender assumed the two were going someplace for sex. No one had reason to connect Jim or the other man to a newspaper account a couple of days later of the discovery of a man’s body in his bedroom, presumably blugeoned to death by a bloodied barbell found at the scene.
But the connection was made by police in their investigation of the killing, and their findings were detailed in a Page 1 story in the city’s afternoon newspaper some two months after Jim’s death. According to police, Jim and the stranger he met in the bar went to the man’s home for consensual sex. At the man’s home, Jim got progressively drunker and, after the sex and for reasons unknown, crushed his victim’s skull and chest with no fewer than eight blows with the 35-pound weight.
Only days before Jim is believed to have died – based on the extent the decomposition to his body when it was found – he was hauled in by police. It was reported that police informed Jim that officers would have sufficient evidence within days to recommend a charge of murder. Jim avoided that accounting with his death. In closing their murder case, police pointed to the coroner’s ruling that Jim died a “probable suicide” by carbon monoxide poisoning, his death Jim’s way to cheat a sentence of life in prison.
Jim’s ex-wife remarried years after Jim died and is now permanently disabled by a degenerative muscular disease. The house she shared with Jim is occupied by other residents now although the structure has fallen into disrepair and some decay after years of neglect. Jim’s friend passes the house often and plays back memories he has of Jim. He seldom talks about Jim and has declined to answer a couple of people who have asked if he thinks Jim died a killer.
Instead, the friend answers that the circumstance of Jim’s death was a metaphor for a brief life that was a profile in tragedy and violence, a life that was lived in the dark shadows of denial and addiction. The sacrifices they exacted were Jim’s life – and probably two others.

March 15, 2017 - Commentary: Divided we fall

By Kevin Hogan
Founder, Healing Stigma
for HuffingtonPost.com
To be clear, I was born and will die a proud American. But lately, the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave is feeling more like the Divided States of America. From the moment the 45th President of the United States of America was sworn in, the word “united” has increasingly become an inaccurate description of our country. Muscling reality-TV-style into headlines, the President has issued a spate of stigmatizing executive orders targeting and isolating specific groups in our society and around the world.
In the name of protecting Americans from “terrorists” and “illegals” who would either kill our citizens, take our jobs, or both, countless families have been torn apart. People who put their own lives and those of their loved ones at risk to support our troops overseas have been through the emotional, legal, and financial wringer. And undocumented immigrants who came to America as children, paid taxes, and contributed to the economy even throughout the recession are being detained as their own children look on helplessly.
During the nationwide outrage and protests fueled in part by these xenophobic policies, the Jewish community was rocked by a wave of vandalism and hate crime. Hundreds of gravestones in Jewish cemeteries were toppled, while a rash of bomb threats targeted Jewish community centers and schools.
After significant achievements under the Obama administration, including marriage equality, workplace protections, and the right to serve openly in the armed forces, the LGBTQ community has witnessed several of their hard-fought rights challenged at the federal, state, and local levels. Recently, White House officials confirmed that a far-reaching “religious freedom” executive order is still in the works. Once signed, it would provide exemptions for religion-motivated denial of service to LGBTQ individuals in the broadest possible sense, including when providing education or seeking a job.
In the Texas Supreme Court, conservatives challenged the city of Houston’s decision to extend spousal benefits to married same-sex couples. The state of Wisconsin withdrew insurance coverage for gender reassignment surgery for transgender state employees. And after two years of being allowed to march in Boston’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade, OutVets found itself temporarily stonewalled by the South Boston Allied Veterans Council, which claimed that OutVets’ rainbow flag violates its rules because it’s an “outward symbol of sexuality.”
Transgender students, arguably some of the most vulnerable individuals in our society, witnessed the federal government roll back its guidance for the protection of their public restroom rights. Just days later, the Supreme Court balked at hearing Gavin Grimm’s case concerning his gender identity and rights as a student.
Sadly, the President’s ongoing attempts to undermine the credibility of the press are choking most meaningful avenues to respectfully debate these issues. Without respectful debate, we’re inundated with ever-louder opposing voices that battle for our attention and seek to polarize us. The danger is that many of us, regardless of our political beliefs, are increasingly succumbing to the use of stigma to label those who aren’t “with us.”
By its very nature, stigma fosters oppression, divisiveness, and fear. When a government or elected official promotes stigmatization, it becomes a weapon that can cause mass suffering, destroying lives and decimating communities.
Most importantly, stigma is the sworn enemy of the empathy it takes to build bridges between diverse groups of people. At its worst, it leads to hatred and violence. It’s no surprise, therefore, that the Southern Poverty Law Center recorded nearly 900 post-election hate incidents with anti-immigrant, anti-Black, anti-Semitic, anti-LGBTQ, and anti-Muslim cases topping the nationwide list in that order.
This is the current state of our union. We are, to put it plainly, a nation divided by stigma. And if we don’t take action against our own stigmatizing beliefs, more hatred and violence will follow. Soon, we could be fighting an internal war, instead of fighting for tolerance, freedom, and diversity—the core values that I believe should shape our nation’s identity for generations to come.
Fortunately, every time we witness stigma walling off an individual or group, we’re given an opportunity to challenge it by building a bridge. By looking beyond stigmatizing stereotypes and labels and getting to know our fellow Americans, we can recognize our similarities, reduce our fear, and learn to celebrate our diversity. And when we do that, we can make America more than great: We can unite it.

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