On turning 81...

Yes, I was born 9-16-32, here in Shreveport/Bossier, where I live again. It is cheaper than Los Angeles as I had old family home, overhead costs are low (Driver license for seniors is $12.50 for 4 years, car license is $28 (2001 Impala), and life is much better racially (and sexually) than it was when I grew up here in the 1940s.) I left for college/army and then to move to L.A. in Sept. of 1956.

Ann Bannon’s birthday was last Sunday, as it turns out, and Jeanne Barney, who wrote “Smoke from Jeanne's Lamp” for The Advocate through the 1970s, celebrated on Friday. In some ways she, as straight, has had a more “interesting” life than I did as a worker at ONE/HIC. Aristide Laurent, who also wrote for Advocate as "P Nutz," would have been 72 yesterday.

We have good memories but need to continue interest in a cause and how the world is going—and have a little fun with it all.

Guest Blogger: Aristide Laurent and The Not-So-Sudden Death of The Advocate

As a person known for having an article in the very first issue of The Advocate in 1967 (under the nom-de-plume “P.Nutz”), and having been there at its birth, I take this news with mixed emotions. I continued writing and working with the newspaper and into the 1970’s when it became a glossy under Mr. Goodstein. As Todd White reported in one of his earlier Legends columns in The Long Beach Blade, I was an “accidental activist” who kept winding up at history-making events because, well, “where the action was there was I” ... starting with The Black Cat protest in abt 1968 and marching against the passage of Prop 8 in 2008. I was a personal friend of Advocate owners Dick Mitch, Bill Rau, and Sam Allen. During the late ’60s and early ’70s, we were so proud of our work and how the Advocate grew in circulation with each new issue to hit the stands, eventually becoming a household world in most LGBT households. This was during the rag-tag beginning of the gay/sexual revolution—hippies, gay-ins, pride parades, protests by the unwashed masses of gays & lesbians. It was the right thing at the right time. It was an idea whose time had come.

Then David Goodstein came along and purchased all the Advocate stock (I think he paid $4 a share for what was originally sold for $1 a share). I was one of the “anointed” whom he moved to San Mateo to set up shop. There is much debate about what Goodstein changed the Advocate to, but I’m a believer in the theory that nothing can, or will, remain the same and must adapt to its time. In those 10 years from 1967-1977, much progress was made in the battle for gay rights and equality. Goodstein, rightly or wrongly, decided that it was time for the gay community to move into the main-stream and flex our purchasing power. Still, the gay community continued to fight and demand equality without the help of the all-new-glossy Advocate. I cannot say, nor will I attempt to, say, how much influence Goodstein and the new Advocate had on causing corporations to acknowledge us as a source of income to be courted and leading to Ellen daring to come out on national TV. To me his concept was just another militant division, or troop unit, in our march towards equality.

So it seems that “new” Advocate is about to go the route of the “old” Advocate and, like the dinosaurs, become an anachronism and victim of technology and progress. One can only assume (and hope) that the new technology (esp. the Internet) will now continue the battle for equality using today’s weapons. Being an optimistic cynic, I would not be surprised that the gay community (though, perhaps in a different form) will still be standing and progressing when the rest of the country collapses into the Haves and the Have Nots. Of course, by then, we probably will no longer be known as DINKS (double income/no kids) as in the past 40 years of my activism, we have gone from sexual liberation to the right to marry and have kids.

I attended the Advocate’s 40th Anniversary party in WeHo in 2007. I felt like a dinosaur among all those pretty young things and Hollywood celebs. Stuart Timmons tried to get the editor of the Advocate to introduce me to the gathered throng as the oldest living former Advocate employee still standing and speaking out, but ... well, I think the word “oldest” didn’t go over very well with a crowd whose parents had probably not been born when the rest of us were fighting against bar raids and lewd conduct arrests for just holding hands in a bar. I told Stuart to let the issue go because I was from a different world than this generation and that was OK. I had my many years of wonderful memories, felt very secure in myself and the fact that I had contributed a little something toward their freedom to party in public and dance man-to-man, woman-to-woman without fear of being raided by the LAPD. That was more than enough for me for me.

As one-of-our-own (Rod McKuen) said in song during that period: “People change. Life goes on. Every midnight brings a new dawn.” Here’s hoping each new dawn brings continuing advances in our struggle for equality. Gay marriage is an idea whose time has come and, in my humble opinion, nothing can stop an idea whose time has come. We saw that with the Hate Bill including the gay community. We will see it with our other reasonable demands, including marriage, adoption, DADT, and things we can only dream about for the future.

The older I get, the more things from my generation pass on ... my favorite bars, my friends, my health, newspapers, etc. Thank Zeus and Aphrodite I still have my memories to sustain me above ground.

Aristide Laurent

Milk ... it does a body good.

Guest Blogger: Aristide Laurent

I saw Milk today. I left the theater sobbing (well, more like sniffling … I’m much too macho to sob openly). It was like I was transported back 30 years in time and I was young and active and life was good again — and fun, fun, fun — thanks to the burgeoning sexual liberation!!! Over half of the audience in the Vista Theater were either not born then or very small children during that decade of revolution. I would like to have asked them what the movie was like to them, people who had not lived through the severe prejudice, brutality and struggles of the 1970s — the bar raids, the beatings, the murders. Those of us who lived through “The Castro Era” bear a special affinity with what was unfolding on the screen. I would guess that it would be a totally personal experience to each of us according to how active and/or involved each of us was during that historical period of resistance. Not everyone lived in Buena Vista Park or Jaguar books as “some” of us did ... wink! wink!

I hope my tenants go see it and let me know what the movie felt like or meant to them as free agents in a world entirely different from the world many of us knew in the 1970s. They, like so many other younger gays, have had their first experience with activism with the passage of Prop 8. So let me say: Welcome to “our” world, guys. I am happy to know that a new generation of gays and straights are not willing to settle for second class citizenry. Thank you. Obviously the struggle is not over.

I cannot “rate” or review the movie as a film because I was too much a part of it to be critically objective.

Scotty (played by Franco) was, in the lingo of the ’70s ”TO DIE FOR”!!! His nude swimming scene — Ohhhh daddy…

Two things to complain about (aha! You knew it — there he goes!!) … 1) the guy who played David Goodstein was entirely TOO butch. Goodstein was a piss-elegant pig (just my opinion, of course); and 2) the movie needed more Sylvester to set the mood of what was a really fun time in spite of all the prejudice and fear which we had to constantly be aware of every minute of the day. For such a really heavy movie there should have been more comic or musical relief (again, my opinion). It was pretty much a downer from start to finish. But a good downer.

Sean Penn & Josh Brolin were absolutely perfect in their roles!! The art of a really good actor is that the viewer sees only the character they are playing and not the famous star who is portraying them.

That's my opinion and I’m sticking with it. I welcome rebuttals.

Guest Blogger: Aristide Laurent

Only I would review a funeral!

We buried my long-time friend Allan Jackson yesterday. Alas, one less member of my diminishing group of old friends. It's starting to feel like a version of the Baatan Death March for Sissies.

The service was held at Metropolitican Baptist Church in Alta Dena (CA). I’ve never been to a black Baptist funeral before. I guess I can still experience “firsts” — even at my age.  For someone who was born and raised a devout Catholic, slowing morphing to lapsed Catholic, then recovering Catholic, and, finally, rabid anti-Catholic, I must say this was a totally unique experience for me.  As you can imagine the service was a long way from the gaudy, solemn ritual of requiem mass to which I've become accustomed over many years and many funerals.

The entire front row was composed of very white Mormons. Roy’s family drove in from Utah to support him in his time of loss. The second row seemed to be composed of what few blood relatives of Allan remained. I found it interesting that two of the country’s most perceived homophobic religions had come together to honor a gay man whose kindness, gentleness and love could surpass the faith-based nonsense & bigotry incorporated in their belief systems. In this church, on this day, we were all one in love and respect for a lost friend.

Former fellow poker club member, Howie, was one of the pallbearers. He looked very uneasy in his white gloves because this was probably the first time he’d been in a church since he was dunked in a cold baptismal font. Wow! Someone even less Catholic than I.

As the service began, I kept waiting for all the “hootin’ and hollerin’” I've heard so much about with Baptist fundamentalism. Everyone was very dignified ... except a member or two in the choir who would stand up, shout somethng, wave their hands in the air and sit down. The choir as a group was fine but the soloists were [to me] just dreadful. The male singer’s voice was [again, to me] extremely grating, like fingernails on a blackboard; and the female singer quite frankly could not carry a tune in a brass collection basket, bless her heart. That, too, was disappointing and completely destroyed the stereotype of gospel choirs as breeding grounds for future blues & hip hop stars. I expect no emergence of another Aretha Franklin or Al Green to come from this group.

Another lady walked up to the podium and began reading letters of praise from what seemed to be every Baptist Church in the county. She was barely laudable past the second row. The reading went on until my ass bones began to ache. We all know he was an exemplary human being, but most of my group here doesn't have all that much time left above ground. I leaned over and whispered to Gee & Richard “if she doesn’t stop reading those things soon, I'm going to go up there and rip them up, screaming ‘read this, bitch!’” The preacher spent too much time talking about himself and never once mentioned Allan’s life partner of 39 years, Roy Harris. My ballsy friend Richard called him on it at the cemetery (where the preacher actually forgot the words to The Lord's Prayer. Oy veh!). He said something like, “Oh, didn’t I?”

Then, it got down. The preacher began to preach and the audience began to get into it. People began praising and shouting and calling the name of the Lord! Then the preacher shifted into first gear and worked up a holy sweat. A lady sitting behind Korie & Miss Miller began to drown out the rest of the church with her shouting and praising. I looked over and saw poor Miss Korie with fingers shoved deeply into both ears as the lady behind him turned up the volume and flailing of hands. “OK... now we were beginning to rock,” thought I. The lady jumped up from her seat and ran into the aisle shouting and testifying until she reached the front row of mourners. All eyes were on her. She actually began to strut like a rooster, flapping her elbows back. I loved it. No Dies Irae, Dies Illa here. The only thing I understood from her testimony was that she was “80 years old and Jesus had touched her” (I assume not inappropriately). I could imagine Roy slinking down into his seat as his Utah family watched her transfixed. Roy later said that Allan had specifically requested that none of this carrying-on go on. But when the spirit moves you, ya gotta go with it. Hallelujah!

After Allan’s coffin was lowered into the ground at Forest Lawn of Hollywood, we all returned to our cars for the trip back to the church for a delicious repast of fried chicken and all the fixin’s. During the meal, people were supposed to give reminiscences of Allan. Gee and I were ready with our prepared speeches but never got to give them. I guess they were afraid we were going to tell too much. Smile. I must admit that I felt a deep tinge of sadness in my throat as the procession left the cemetery leaving Allan, a once vibrant human being, behind. I still choke up when I think how we must eventually abandon those we love so dearly to a cold grave and move on with our lives.

At least, for a few hours, the love of one gentle soul brought two homophobic religions & cultures together. Sometimes setting a good example does more than confrontation for acceptance as equal human beings. This was obviously one of those times.
   
 Aristide

Guest Blogger: Aristide Laurent

The Advocate celebrated its 40th birthday in West Hollywood last night. Being the last of the Big Four who started The Advocate back in 1967, I was invited to attend ... not by the latest powers that be but by my friend Stuart Timmons, acclaimed author of the tell-all tome Gay L.A.

The Hollywood Cat Lady (a/k/a Jeanne Barney) was similarly snubbed but invited by Stuart to attend as one of the remaining Founding Fathers/Mothers of the gay press movement. She snubbed back and refused to attend. You don't go, girl.  For anyone old enough to remember, Jeanne B used to write the advice column, Smoke From Jeanne's Lamp, for the old Advocate

The hearalded event turned out to be a gathering of the truly fab-boo. For being 40 years old, there were very few people in attendance who who were 40 years old or older. But,.then, maybe I'm the last of the great gay dinosaurs. After all, I was a mere child of 4 when I helped produce the early copies of the Advocate in the basement print shop of ABC TV studios. Cough. Cough.

The Advocate has, indeed, come a long way. In fact, it's come so long a way that Dick Mitch & Bill Rau, the original creators, are probably rolling over in their graves somewhere in the outskirts of Visalia, California. [Note: After their sale of the Advocate to David Goodstein, they bought a ranch outside of Visalia and raised multiplying onions ... really ... no joke here.]

After Dick Mitch was arrested in a bar raid and charged with lewd conduct in the late 1960’s, he became a fired-up activist and, with his lover, Bill Rau and friend Sam Allen, they bought the Pride Newsletter and changed the name to The Advocate. Since it was dangerous to be a "pervert" prior to the liberation movement, you didn't use your real name for fear of reprisals, not only from harrassment by the LAPD but the ever present possibility of losing your day job, family & friends. Dick Mitch became Dick Michaels, the editor; Bill Rau became Bill Rand; and I became “P.Nutz,” jack of many trades. As many of you know I provided the so-called “humor” of the early Advocate in a monthly column titled “Mariposa de la Noche” (Butterfly of the Night). When I look at those columns in my mature years, I shudder. What a flamer I was! [No rebuttals, please].

The defining purpose of the early Advocate was to unite and inform the gay community of what was happening in their closed society. When Goodstein purchased it and took over, it evolved into a glossy fashion/celebrity magazine. Perhaps that is because the main stream media was now covering gay news and there was no particular need for a newspaper/magazine which specialized in such previously regularly occurring stories as bar raids, lewd conduct arrests, pro- and anti- legislation in various halls of government, etc.. So we became fabulous.

And, last night, the fabulous people turned out for The Advocate’s 40th birthday bash. Mayor Villaraigosa was there; a gay Marine wounded in Iraq was there; Katherine Heigl fresh from her Emmy win for Grey's Anatomy was there (she's really beautiful but should eat more!) with her fellow nominee T.R. Knight (who looked much better in person than on the series). The celebrants in attendance were the young and the beautiful: gay young male gym beauties, straight young female beautiies in flowing fashion, lesbians dressed to the nines in the latest lesbian gear. This was a long way from 1967. For all my efforts back then, I had become an anachronism. Hmmm.... do I sound pink with envy? (see photo)

The fact that The Advocate had gone from being an advocate for gay rights to a commerical success was evident in the dominating presence of corporate sponsors, from a s representative of Southwest Airlines who addressed the crowd, to a shiny Saturn convertible for on-the-move gay couples. Sky Vodka provided the [free] pink “advocate martinis” which helped me keep smiling and hob-nobbing with the I’m-more-faboo-than-you crowd.

There were video greetings from a number of celebrities such as Ellen Degeneres, Jon Stewart, Conan O’Brien and a host of others. I guess that is, indeed, progress as the stars of old, such as Liberace, Rod Hudson, Merv Griffin, et al., would never, ever have acknowledged the existence of those of us on the fringe of society back then.

While I stood there and downed one advocate martini after another, Stuart did what real cocktail partygoers do and worked the crowd. He shook hands with L.A. Mayor Villaraigosa and handed him a business card which read: STUART TIMMONS, HOMO HISTORIAN.  That cracked the mayor up, though I’m not sure he understood what it meant. The present editor of The Advocate assured Stuart & me that we “must get together and talk about the early days of The Advocate” ... hug, hug, kiss, kiss .... “Oh darling, there you are..... so good seeing you...” hug, hug, kiss, kiss. It wasn't actually phoney ... it's just what people do at cocktail parties. It's also why I try to NEVER go to cocktail parties.

As we left the gathering of the truly fabulous, I thought to myself: My job here is done. Let the young and the beautiful take it from here.

AJinLA

NOT a good example....

In a message dated 9/1/2007 11:36:06 AM Pacific Daylight Time, Ron Tate wrote:

Before we close this ‘fairy’ tale story that everyone lived happily ever after, much of the great accomplishments you mention are in Southern California and big cities like New York, Seattle, San Francisco, New Orleans. However, if you insulate yourself in these gay havens, you are leaving out a large part of the U.S., i.e., the South, the Midwest and mid-America. Go to those smaller cities and towns and try dancing with another man in a western bar or holding hands at MacDonald's or your local Baptist church. There is still much to be accomplished. There is more to life than just Los Angeles and the liberal Hollywood crowd.

Later in that day, Aristie Laurent replied:

But billy does live in some small town in upper redneck louisiana (let's just say boogaloosa) .... should he, therefore, be having sex in a public men's room??? should he not expect to be busted if he does it long enough? should he blame society if he does get busted??? or should he work to change the law and allow anyone, hetero or homo, to f&%k on the floor of public restrooms while daddies and their kids step over them? if not, move to L.A. where you'll most likely still be busted if you have sex in a public toilet but, at least, you can dance with each other at Disneyland after the arraignment.

But I content that I am not a good example. I came here to Louisana after my sexually active days, so I doubt I challenge anyone-most people seem to see me coming and instead of thinking I have a gay walk, they obviously see I'm an old man struggling to walk, and hold doors open for me, etc. I am no threat. I'm not sure about the two local gay bars—but I assume people do hook up there, but I worry that one has drugs around it—the security guard is worthless. There were arrests in a park along Red River, but there had been real complaints from the public, including families with kids coming upon two men having sex. And after one series of arrests, publicized in the paper and on tv, men still went there so a few months later there were MORE arrests. Again, were these Senator Craig types who couldn't go home with the person—didn't trust them—or what?

And there is a PFLAG group here with little support and a political group-non-partisan, which has been written up in the paper and still gets little support. The local social club, Krewe of Apollo, which costs lots to join and members spend hundreds of dollars on costumes for the Mardi Gras ball, gets lots of support. Frustrating. But I can tell you that life here is easier today than in the 40s when I was here, racially more so than sexually. Blacks were terrorized by the cops, the newspapers, etc. I didn't know of any coverage of sex, and then I left in 1950 for LSU and did a few visits to Dixie's in New Orleans, and had sex at LSU, then in 55 went to the army, and had sex, then to L. A. The irony is that like me, the front page of the local paper tells us that a local football player had the same dream (of going to L. A.) and now is USC's leading football player, but he loves Southern California, just as I did and do. And he sees celebrities, some even seek him out, and yet there are more and more movies being made here-he had a conversation with Ashton Kushner over where to eat in Shreveport, since Ashton had made a movie here and knew the places.

So we can live one place and visit another and so we can just play life as it comes, where ever we are.