Tag Archives: McSwells

You Can’t Say No Forever

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Let’s see. Betty sent me a story about how Julie Nixon Eisenhower is a Barack Obama supporter, giving the maximum allowed by law. Her sister, Tricia Nixon Cox is a McCain supporter. Betty also sent me a link about the longshoremen and dock workers from Long Beach to Seattle going on a strike for May Day as a protest against the war. No mention of this on the national news. Brian Williams who I used to like isn’t mentioning at all.

Betty always sends me informative links since we are of similar mindsets. I first knew Betty when she was a waitron at McSwells and had an apartment directly above the bar. When I was living in Hoboken for those very long months in 1991, I would wait at the bus stop outside of McSwells and Betty would have a chat with me from her window above. Then I would take a bus into the city to get a bus out to Lodi. Such stupid, futile times those were.

For some reason I just flashed on a memory of playing something called The Noise Fest in Rahway NJ. It must have been around 1985. I had my Fender Super Bullet II plugged in, and my body was filled with caffeine. I did my fast rhythmic thing, Lois played bass, Jane played cello, and two others played various percussion. We were the Lay Offs and we were noisy alright, and I was a bundle of nerves unable to look at the audience which gave the appearance of being aloof. Don’t know why that popped into my head. There’s a tape of it somewhere, maybe.

Last night Bill was here once again and that was good. We watched, what else, but Lawn Hor d’oeuvres. It was better than The Olivia Show somewhat, all about a Scientology type group that an artist was trying to frame for his wife wanting to leave him and her murder. It was ok. I try to guess the killer in the first 5 minutes but I guessed wrong, it wasn’t the art dealer, it was the artist. I went to sleep soon after that, Bill stayed up to watch some David Letterman.

Once again, slept really well and once again slept later than I used to. Bill stayed in bed as I showered and dressed and still sleeping when I went off to work. He’s been going to his mother’s apartment before work to make sure she’s eating properly. When he comes to Hoboken he also goes there before coming over to make sure she’s eaten dinner and ready for bed.

I made my way across town, since it was Thursday I stopped by Smilers, saw Bill’s biggest fan, West Indian Tony and got myself an egg sandwich. Thursday also means Penne, Pesto and Chicken for lunch. It really is the little things in life that gets you through the day. Well at least today it was the little things.

This weekend is the Hoboken Spring Art and Music Fest which means a street fair with all the little knick knacks and tchotchkes that you don’t really need. Where in the past the music was the Bongos, or Patti Smith or Dr. John, this year it’s Micky Dolenz who lately looks like a former dictator from the Soviet Bloc. Don’t know if I’ll be checking it out, though deep down I know I’ll check out one or two songs. I’ll let you know.

Here is a white tiger swimming.

This has been my 900th entry. Woo hoo! Cheers!

Someone Saved My Life Tonight

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Joe My God is a blog that I read most everyday. It’s an enjoyable read, definitely geared for gay men. Not so much erotica, but reports and stories that I find appealing. He lives in New York City. I believe he has hundreds of readers.

Last night in one of his open threads, he asked when was the first time you went to a gay bar, the bar name and what year. I responded as follows:

1981 Feathers in Bergen County NJ.
Didn’t speak with anyone, no one spoke with me. Probably ordered a soda. I was pretty much into Punk and New Wave at the time so I wasn’t into the disco. Which is the main reason I don’t go to gay bars. Not a fan of house music these days.

Everyone else’s entries were all positive experiences. Mine, while not necessarily negative set me apart from gay culture once again. It is true, I rarely, if ever, go to gay bars. It’s mainly the music that puts me off, and also the fact I am generally the invisible man when I go. Bartenders tend to ignore me. I prefer a mixed scene anyhow, not so segregated. Gay, Straight, Black, White and everything in between is fine by me.

I almost posted this on Joe My God following my original post.
Interesting side note. My brother who’s straight, liked the same type of music, Punk/New Wave and we both started going to this place in Hoboken called Maxwells. Seeing great up and coming bands from all over the world for $5.00. At the time Maxwells was listed as a Gay/Straight bar and it really was. Rock geeks and gays and lesbians all there for the music. It was also known in Hoboken as ‘that fag bar’. Flash forward a few years later, my parents are on vacation. They meet some people from Hoboken and my mother mentions that two of her sons go to a club called Maxwells. The Hobokenites told her it was a fag bar.

This was before I came out to my family. My mother was distressed but I think the concept of gay and straight people able to mingle was a new concept to her. The subject didn’t sit well with her and it was never spoken of again, though I did have my mother come to Hoboken to have brunch at McSwells but by that time I was out. I don’t know what she expected but I do know she enjoyed herself.

Feathers was the first gay bar I ever went to, and I haven’t been back since. The first gay bar I had contact with was a bar called the Bell, in Hackensack NJ. The Bell used to be a rock and roll club or a disco, that my siblings occasionally went to. At some point in the mid 70’s it turned into a gay bar which put some people off. I was androgynous then, pre-pubescent.

Though when puberty hit and I knew I was gay, there was nowhere I could turn, no services available for a 13 year old boy in north New Jersey. Definitely could not talk to anyone I knew about what was happening to me. The confusion, from living in a straight world and hearing queer and fag and dyke jokes all the time and finding out those jokes were about me, was crushing and on top of that was the shame. I believe I had a slight nervous breakdown the summer of 1976. I kept it quiet.

The only thing I could thing of doing was to call the Bell. I was alone in the house that day, every one else off at work. I was left climbing the walls that summer day. At wit’s end I called the Bell in the middle of the afternoon. Some guy answered the phone, either a manager or someone setting up for the evening. I poured my heart and soul out to this stranger on the other end of the line.

How I didn’t know what to do, what I disappointment I was to my family, how I didn’t want to live like that. It seemed like we were on the phone a long time, maybe an hour I think. Whomever it was, they talked me in off the ledge. Someone I never knew before or since. Obviously I eventually came to grips with my sexuality and as out of step I was with the rest of the world before that, I was definitely marching to the beat of a totally different drum from then on.

I wonder whatever happened to the guy who answered the phone. I wonder how his night went. It must have been a heavy trip for him to listening to the anguish of a 13 year old boy coming to grips with his sexuality. He could have just brushed me off, hung up the phone and continued doing what he was doing.

Perhaps he did for me what someone might have done for him when he was coming of age, or perhaps no one was there to help him out back then and took it upon himself to give someone support that he never got for himself.

Just something that struck me as I read Joe My God.