Leaving My Heart ... Memories of San Francisco

San Francisco first opened its Golden Gates to me in 1972. I was 18 years old. As a graduation gift, my folks gave me a trip to San Francisco. The trip was for the week ending in Memorial Day where I accompanied Dad who was flying to the West Coast on business. It was my first time to fly on an airplane; it was my first time to spend time alone with Dad. I was more frightened of being alone with my father, than I was of the plane ride. Dad must have felt the same unease, though he hid it well. After all, he had a son who was singing show tunes and dancing around the house, bewildering behavior to an engineer:)

On Memorial Weekend, Dad took me sightseeing. We went to Cliff House, watched Memorial Day ceremonies in Golden Gate Park and ate at a restaurant in North Beach where the food was served family style. It turned out to be the same restaurant where I dined before the “One Night Only” Benefit the cast of "Evita" held this past Spring. It was still there 30 years later and the food was still excellent.

Dad showed me where his girlfriend in 1950 lived; the last woman he dated before he met my Mom. (It was scandalous because she was older and divorced!) Dad would have been 20 when he was stationed in San Francisco; I was seeing the city through his eyes at only a slightly younger age than he first experienced it. My next visit, exposure, to San Francisco would be seen through very different eyes.

In 1977, I flew to San Francisco to visit my first boyfriend. A set and costume designer, Michael was working at ACT and teaching in Santa Clara. We had met in Houston. I had been going to dance clubs, but hadn’t progressed to dating guys; I wasn’t a virgin, but I certainly wasn’t experienced with men. I’ve never been able to mistake lust for love; but with Michael, there was certainly more than physical attraction, so I was in uncharted waters.

It was a wonderfully romantic visit. Michael is an extraordinary man ... talented, smart, handsome, kind, blessed with a rare integrity. I loved him. I was 23. He took me to the Castro; we went to Badlands; by the end of our time together, I said one of the dumbest things I’ve ever said. "Michael, I really think of you as a brother." All I can plead is temporary insanity, as I would not have another significant relationship for some time. My judgment was clouded by viewing a world where everything seemed sexually possible ... and probable ... Michael was incredibly wise. He gave me wings. Lucky for me, we’re still friends today.

By 1980, I was on the road in my first national tour of a musical. I was clogging my way through the football number nightly, as a cast member of "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas." Our tour of “Whorehouse” played the Orpheum in San Francisco in consecutive years. I did my personal best during that time to live up to the title of the show. I remember meeting a San Francisco police officer and a deputy sheriff from Chico for ... um ...dates... in the same week. Later, I dated a fey hairdresser named Allen who taught me a lesson in manliness.

We were walking down Castro, me in my cowboy hat and boots, Allen sashaying in jeans and a tee-shirt. He tried to hold my hand. I pulled back. He said, "Come on Neil, you’re in the Castro. It’s ok for men to show affection." I said, "Allen - You have to understand that where I live, we’d get shot if we did this!" He grabbed my hand again. Just as he did this, a group of teens in a passing car threw a big container of soda at us and screamed, "Faggots!"

Allen turned around and started chasing the car which had been slowed in traffic by the light at 18th and Castro. I ran after him, thinking, Jesus, I’m going to have to prove something here. Allen caught up with the car, stuck his head in the window in the car, screamed, "Thaaannnnk Youuuu!", turned away and dusted his hands off like he’d cleaned up a mess. The asshole kids and I both started laughing. Allen sure had given them what for! He grabbed my hand and held it. I let him:) I learned you can’t let other people define who you are.

I dated Allen for awhile and we shared another unique experience. "Decade 80" was a big bash which celebrated the opening of the Moscone Center. There were 14,000 Gay men and women in attendance. It was an incredible sight ... all of us celebrating the beginning of a new decade, the opening of a significant building, all of us crammed into one tight space waiting for 3am and a performance by Sylvestor. Unfortunately, Allen and I attended two very different parties, though we were joined at the hip. I felt claustrophobic and wanted to leave. Allen was soaring ...on seven different drugs he had taken just before we left for the event. We ended the evening/next morning by having a huge fight and I never saw him again.

San Francisco has captured my heart for decades. When I visit now and walk the streets. I see faces. I see ghosts. I remember hanging with Steve Silver and seeing "Beach Blanket Babylon" 20 times; sitting in a bar chatting with Val Diamond after our respective shows. I remember dancing a few nights a week at the Rawhide and the handsome men who charmed me. I see a restaurant "Without Reservations" and a certain waiter with a booming voice nicknamed Basso Bear. I remember a man named Bruce who put me up in his home on Fell Street during "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas". I remember that a young sailor, fresh out of the Navy and just coming out, replaced me in the household two weeks after my show moved on. I remember that he was murdered in the garage two days after he moved in.

I played San Francisco in 1982 with "Fiddler on the Roof", a job I got while on vacation, knocking on the stage door of the Orpheum to say hello to the doorman. Little did I know that they were holding auditions; that I would sing; that I would start rehearsals three hours later and go into the tour within three days. Fate or Luck? I prefer to think San Fran was looking out for me. I remember staying at the Inn on Castro, meeting the owners Joel and Sam and being invited to their 19th anniversary party. They moved to Italy, Santa Fe and back to San Francisco and should be celebrating their 40th anniversary soon.

I came back to the Bay Area with "Evita" in 1992, 1994, 1998 and again this year. My first ex came out here on a sabbatical and stayed. I helped my second partner, Tim gotmoof, move out here, hopefully showing him the same wisdom and grace that Michael showed me in the late ‘70s. Through Tim, I met Tim bluedevilsf and Tom bearbrat and their friends. Today I stay with my ex David’s partner, Stan. I adore him! David is lucky. How odd that both of my exes would choose to live in the Bay Area, though Tim has gone back to the Midwest.

Now when I visit, I think of all of these men, places and events from the past . Sometimes, I miss friends who have passed into the foggy recesses of my memory; sometimes, I mourn them; always, I celebrate them. I guess you could say that I’ve lived my own "Tales of the City".

In more recent memory, I think of a day in Muir Woods with Cameron handlebear, Gary fuzzygruf, Steven double_ohsteven and Bob isitandlookout. I think of the 9/11 picnic where I made so many new acquaintances. I think of the men who honored me by attending"“Evita", who celebrated my birthday, who’ve stayed in my life through live journal in the past couple of years. A journal isn’t a memoir, is it, when there is so much to learn, to experience, so much more love to give? The thread that binds the spine of this tale is a place.

San Francisco ... Thank you for opening up your golden gates! I am one man who is grateful ... I leave you my heart.

Leaving My Heart ... Memories of San Francisco

San Francisco first opened its Golden Gates to me in 1972. I was 18 years old. As a graduation gift, my folks gave me a trip to San Francisco. The trip was for the week ending in Memorial Day where I accompanied Dad who was flying to the West Coast on business. It was my first time to fly on an airplane; it was my first time to spend time alone with Dad. I was more frightened of being alone with my father, than I was of the plane ride. Dad must have felt the same unease, though he hid it well. After all, he had a son who was singing show tunes and dancing around the house, bewildering behavior to an engineer:)

On Memorial Weekend, Dad took me sightseeing. We went to Cliff House, watched Memorial Day ceremonies in Golden Gate Park and ate at a restaurant in North Beach where the food was served family style. It turned out to be the same restaurant where I dined before the “One Night Only” Benefit the cast of "Evita" held this past Spring. It was still there 30 years later and the food was still excellent.

Dad showed me where his girlfriend in 1950 lived; the last woman he dated before he met my Mom. (It was scandalous because she was older and divorced!) Dad would have been 20 when he was stationed in San Francisco; I was seeing the city through his eyes at only a slightly younger age than he first experienced it. My next visit, exposure, to San Francisco would be seen through very different eyes.

In 1977, I flew to San Francisco to visit my first boyfriend. A set and costume designer, Michael was working at ACT and teaching in Santa Clara. We had met in Houston. I had been going to dance clubs, but hadn’t progressed to dating guys; I wasn’t a virgin, but I certainly wasn’t experienced with men. I’ve never been able to mistake lust for love; but with Michael, there was certainly more than physical attraction, so I was in uncharted waters.

It was a wonderfully romantic visit. Michael is an extraordinary man ... talented, smart, handsome, kind, blessed with a rare integrity. I loved him. I was 23. He took me to the Castro; we went to Badlands; by the end of our time together, I said one of the dumbest things I’ve ever said. "Michael, I really think of you as a brother." All I can plead is temporary insanity, as I would not have another significant relationship for some time. My judgment was clouded by viewing a world where everything seemed sexually possible ... and probable ... Michael was incredibly wise. He gave me wings. Lucky for me, we’re still friends today.

By 1980, I was on the road in my first national tour of a musical. I was clogging my way through the football number nightly, as a cast member of "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas." Our tour of “Whorehouse” played the Orpheum in San Francisco in consecutive years. I did my personal best during that time to live up to the title of the show. I remember meeting a San Francisco police officer and a deputy sheriff from Chico for ... um ...dates... in the same week. Later, I dated a fey hairdresser named Allen who taught me a lesson in manliness.

We were walking down Castro, me in my cowboy hat and boots, Allen sashaying in jeans and a tee-shirt. He tried to hold my hand. I pulled back. He said, "Come on Neil, you’re in the Castro. It’s ok for men to show affection." I said, "Allen - You have to understand that where I live, we’d get shot if we did this!" He grabbed my hand again. Just as he did this, a group of teens in a passing car threw a big container of soda at us and screamed, "Faggots!"

Allen turned around and started chasing the car which had been slowed in traffic by the light at 18th and Castro. I ran after him, thinking, Jesus, I’m going to have to prove something here. Allen caught up with the car, stuck his head in the window in the car, screamed, "Thaaannnnk Youuuu!", turned away and dusted his hands off like he’d cleaned up a mess. The asshole kids and I both started laughing. Allen sure had given them what for! He grabbed my hand and held it. I let him:) I learned you can’t let other people define who you are.

I dated Allen for awhile and we shared another unique experience. "Decade 80" was a big bash which celebrated the opening of the Moscone Center. There were 14,000 Gay men and women in attendance. It was an incredible sight ... all of us celebrating the beginning of a new decade, the opening of a significant building, all of us crammed into one tight space waiting for 3am and a performance by Sylvestor. Unfortunately, Allen and I attended two very different parties, though we were joined at the hip. I felt claustrophobic and wanted to leave. Allen was soaring ...on seven different drugs he had taken just before we left for the event. We ended the evening/next morning by having a huge fight and I never saw him again.

San Francisco has captured my heart for decades. When I visit now and walk the streets. I see faces. I see ghosts. I remember hanging with Steve Silver and seeing "Beach Blanket Babylon" 20 times; sitting in a bar chatting with Val Diamond after our respective shows. I remember dancing a few nights a week at the Rawhide and the handsome men who charmed me. I see a restaurant "Without Reservations" and a certain waiter with a booming voice nicknamed Basso Bear. I remember a man named Bruce who put me up in his home on Fell Street during "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas". I remember that a young sailor, fresh out of the Navy and just coming out, replaced me in the household two weeks after my show moved on. I remember that he was murdered in the garage two days after he moved in.

I played San Francisco in 1982 with "Fiddler on the Roof", a job I got while on vacation, knocking on the stage door of the Orpheum to say hello to the doorman. Little did I know that they were holding auditions; that I would sing; that I would start rehearsals three hours later and go into the tour within three days. Fate or Luck? I prefer to think San Fran was looking out for me. I remember staying at the Inn on Castro, meeting the owners Joel and Sam and being invited to their 19th anniversary party. They moved to Italy, Santa Fe and back to San Francisco and should be celebrating their 40th anniversary soon.

I came back to the Bay Area with "Evita" in 1992, 1994, 1998 and again this year. My first ex came out here on a sabbatical and stayed. I helped my second partner, Tim gotmoof, move out here, hopefully showing him the same wisdom and grace that Michael showed me in the late ‘70s. Through Tim, I met Tim bluedevilsf and Tom bearbrat and their friends. Today I stay with my ex David’s partner, Stan. I adore him! David is lucky. How odd that both of my exes would choose to live in the Bay Area, though Tim has gone back to the Midwest.

Now when I visit, I think of all of these men, places and events from the past . Sometimes, I miss friends who have passed into the foggy recesses of my memory; sometimes, I mourn them; always, I celebrate them. I guess you could say that I’ve lived my own "Tales of the City".

In more recent memory, I think of a day in Muir Woods with Cameron handlebear, Gary fuzzygruf, Steven double_ohsteven and Bob isitandlookout. I think of the 9/11 picnic where I made so many new acquaintances. I think of the men who honored me by attending"“Evita", who celebrated my birthday, who’ve stayed in my life through live journal in the past couple of years. A journal isn’t a memoir, is it, when there is so much to learn, to experience, so much more love to give? The thread that binds the spine of this tale is a place.

San Francisco ... Thank you for opening up your golden gates! I am one man who is grateful ... I leave you my heart.