"Forty is the old age of youth;
fifty is the youth of old age."
Victor Hugo
"What though youth gave love and roses,
Age still leaves us friends and wine."
" The love we have in our youth
is superficial
compared to the love that an old man has
for his old wife. "
Will Durant
)+=+(
I was 15 in a new neighborhood.
The High School I attended was a big, modern red brick factory, a "good" school. But I found it rather dehumanizing.
While the Beatles sang,
and I attended the first Earth Day in Philadelphia's Fairmount Park,
my school was run by crew-cutted,
career educators who believed in instilling certain values in the boys and girls
in order to stem the tide
of psychedelic social rebellion
that they abhorred.
\
School was all about proving them right,
and the independent, inquiring student WRONG!
Criticism had not yet been supplanted by
"self esteem yet"
Athletes were idolized,
artists had better focus on some REAL career
and choose a college
before they threw their lives away. . .
North East High School
seemed like a strange anachronism
to be stuck in.
Famed doumentarian Fredrick Weisman
thought the same
and used my school
as the setting for his cinema verite` documentary
"High School."
Audiences laughed,
but I had to take off my love beads
and low slung bell bottoms
and go to school there!
Then I met a boy
who lived a couple of miles away
and who attended another school,
a "worse" school
where he was the butt of abuse
for being dark and quiet
with amazingly expressive brown eyes.
The bullys loved to see pain register in those eyes
and called him 'The Mexican.'
He was actually Jewish,
with a grandfather who had escaped poverty,
sanctioned abuse,
and a forced 20 year stretch in the Russian Army,
by leaving Russia on horse back;
and who had a picture of himself
smoking a hookah
with some sepia Turkoman traders.
"Fuck the Czar" he always began
when asked about those days.
I cannot hear anything about the Czar
on the History Channel
or anywhere else
without muttering
"Fuck the Czar" under my breath
in tribute to the old man.
One time, Carl (my friend)
tried to shock grandpa
by inviting him to smoke some hash
with us.
"Hashish?! He asked incredulously.
"You want to smoke hashish!? - Hashish you EAT!!!!!"
We laughed about that for years.
Heck, I still do!
Carl's family was blue collar too,
and we soon became inseparable.
We were both carrying some baggage,
OK, full baggage cars
FULL of baggage.
We hid out together in his bedroom
and he taught me everything about classic films,
though people called them "old movies" then,
and they papered late night TV
clotted with commercials.
TCM hadn't been invented yet.
He showed me the classic movie goddesses
and heroes.
We learned about history, sociology, and culture.
Together we gasped at Busby Berkley's choreography,
and Cagney's style.
We especially loved the film noir of the 50's
which spoke well to the lingering, sooty Philadelphia that we lived in.
Our lives entwined.
I had a chance
(as a thoughtful troublemaker)
to get into a new alternative high school
that was a progressive experiment of the times,
Parkway.
Carl, moored in high school torment
applied among thousands and got in fairly!
A bonifide miracle!
But Parkway's head master, a charming Englishman called John Bremer (sp?)
would not accede to my Principal's request
to de-acquisition me.
I had to cut school
and show up at Dr. Bremer's desk
to articulate my absolute need
to be in MY new school-reality.
He took a liking to me
and I was the only part-time student
in the 150 student school.
Mornings in prison regulated by bells,
afternoons in the modern world of education.
(Kevin Bacon was one of our stairwell card players,
a fellow student that I was kinda scared of.)
Perhaps this is daily bifurcation of my High School days explains why I am such a hybrid bridge builder.
(freak?)
Ultimately I became full time,
and ultimately we graduated from Parkway.
Carl and I went to school together every day,
& spent all our time together.
We schooled ourselves in mind expansion
and film culture
at night
as the adults slept.
Sometimes we'd drive to Chinatown in his mom's Mercury at 3 am for Wor Shu Op (Pressed Duck) at the old South China on 10th street. One night, Jerry Stiller walked in to get take out; he was performing in town with his wife: Stiller & Meara. Their kid, Ben, was in footsie pajamas - not comedy movies back then.
One year,
after a full night of ritual drinking,
Carl went to South Philly to join the Clown Brigades of the New Year's MUMMER's PARADE.
If you are at all interested in folk life,
you MUST see the Mummers Parade in Philly!
Carl, drunk as regulations and custom demand,
lurched up the street
with a mob of other civic-minded inebriates
doing the "Mummers Strut."
Man, I wish I had film of THAT!
It was a men-only parade
(it's a whole culture:
pipe fitters in sequins playing banjos in the snow).
Man, I want a Philadelphia treat:
Tastykake!
(Spell Check offered: "Testicle" as in:
"Man, I want a testicle!" LOL!!!!)
Carl and I learned about life together.
We grew up a bit.
We sold pot for bus fair (allegedly).
"Your boyfriend's gay"
my helpful parents pointed out.
Guess I'll hang out with a football player;
thanks.
Once,
he accompanied me on a driving trip
with another friend of ours to Vermont
so I could interview at Goddard College.
Carl interviewed on a whim.
Two weeks later we heard:
they wanted to give him a scholarship.
They sent me a regrets letter.
Just like Parkway!
It changed his life.
He "came out" and became a campus star.
Faculty member (and famed lesbian author)
Rita Mae Brown told him:
"Carl, if you were a woman I'd marry you."
He started interpreting Joni Mitchell songs
in American Sign Language,
bringing the lyrics alive to hearing
and deaf alike.
Then he got an internship
working with warehoused autistic kids.
No one cared what Carl did,
as long as no one got hurt
or loud.
He taught them sign language!
The loved his deep eyes
that looked into their souls
showing his pain
and his beauty to them.
Several of the kids
were "mainstreamed" after that.
Unheard of!
But that was Carl.
I guess he helped me the same way.
I went to college at Franconia in New Hampshire
(for a year, long story) and we saw each other
when we could, but by then we knew that we'd always be close.
Before Facebook and Tweeting,
we communicated
by driving around northern New England
in old Volkswagen's and Volvos.
30 Miles through a crystal cold night
to St. Johnsberry for all-night Duncan Donuts
sounds very good when you are lonely
and young
and free and eager to meet.
And talk.
When Carl graduated,
he moved to New York City
as he had always dreamed.
He was a professional sign language interpreter
in the courts - learning everything
about a fascinating reality.
Superior Court Judges mothered him.
He was free of his abusers,
had respect,
and had learned to respect himself.
It was the best time ever to be a gay man:
The 1970's in Manhattan!
Carl was so excited
when they asked him to be
one of the first sign language interpreters
to perform on the front of the Broadway Stage.
There he was in the playbill!
Chopinsky had been shortened to Chopin.
He was beautiful,
sought after, and sharing the stage
with Tommy Tune, Honey Coles and Twiggy
in "My One and Only."
Just one of many productions that featured him.
During intermission,
the hearing audience was buzzing
about how they couldn't take their eyes
off of the guy signing.
And Tommy Tune was dancing at his peak then!
When I went back stage,
Twiggy was swigging booze straight from the bottle. . . . Sure wish I could find that Play Bill.
We talked about being elderly together
and reminiscing about the "good old days."
Bette Middler and Barry Manilow
were performing to gay audiences
at the "baths" before she was discovered.
Bruce Springsteen
was playing a bar in Philly every weekend;
Disco all night,
and liberation,
and a lot of hope
for the future.
Then, lots of guys started to get sick.
Carl had had a lot of emotional
and physical
wear and tear in his life.
His kidneys failed,
and he had to go on relief,
and on dialysis.
His outer beauty
(so important to us then)
dimmed -
but his soulful eyes
grew only richer and deeper.
I can close my eyes
and look into them still.
I visited him before moving to Hawaii.
We would always stay close.
In an instant,
a pause, a look,
a note, a phone call,
we were instantly closer
than any two people could be.
We shared
So much of each other,
so many memories,
and landmarks. . . .
About 15 years ago, my mom heard
from someone in Philly
that Carl had died.
A famed psychic once told me
that two friends who have passed
accompany me through life.
Perhaps I'll tell you
about the other friend
on another occasion.
Carl & I used to say:
" If I close my eyes,
you are still there; "
There is more to our friendship
than what can be touched
or heard."
So true.
I sometimes wonder how middle-aged me
looks to forever young
and handsome
Carl.
Some day we'll laugh about it.
If your friend(s) of adolescence
are still in this world,
call them today.
Tell them Carl and I say
" A L O H A "
Thanks for visiting, warmly, cloudia
