May 3, 2012

One gorgeous spring morning I found myself enjoying a coffee on the terrace of a rest stop perched on the slope of Sicily's Mount Etna. As I gazed up at the beast, I could see the red-hot lava flowing out of the volcano's mouth. All around the rest stop there were vents with steam venting out of them and I could feel the ground rumbling gently beneath my feet. A few weeks later, I noted in the newspaper that the rest stop was now buried under serveral meters of lava.

April 20, 2012

Our tour bus was parked along the curb of New York's Battery Park just a month or two after 9/11. Through the trees I observed what I recognized as the large metal sphere that had graced the lobby of The World Trade Center for so many decades. Much to the chagrin of the driver, I made my way off the bus and walked over to take a closer look. It really was pretty much intact. Amazing. I moved closer, reached up and touched it. Standing next to me was a uniformed Marine with tears streaming down his cheeks. Both his father and brother had worked in the offices of Cantor Fitzgerald at One World Trade Center.

April 1, 2012

We'd had to enter the port city of Livorno by tender. The sky was overcast and stormy, the sea more than a bit choppy, the mood somber. Our tour guide was an elderly, white-haired woman carrying a bright red umbrella (to match my bright red baseball cap she later jokingly confided as she requested that I bring up the rear, so to speak, of the tour group and make sure that there weren't any stragglers). Before departing on the coach to Florence, she called us all together and shared with us her still horrifying memories of the day Hitler's Nazis entered the city during World War Two. The troops had entertained themselves by forcibly removing her family from their home, restraining she and her mother, and forcing them to witness her father sodomizing her younger brother before shooting them both to death. Even though more than half a century had lapsed, she remained traumatized by the memory of this despicable so-called act of war. This dignified, hard-working old lady wasn't looking for our sympathy; rather she was seeking, in her own humble way, to educate and inform us.

March 11, 2012

While we were 'doing' Greece, we were taken to the city of Olympia — the home of the ancient Olympic Games. It was a blisteringly hot day and we stood for what seemed like hours (actually, it was hours) in a field beside the track of the original Olympic complex. There were no trees, there was no shade; but our guide was determined that we view the opening ceremony of the Millennium Games that were later held in Sydney, Australia. After what seemed like an eternity, a bevy of women in flowing white dresses exited the Temple of Zeus, 'danced' over a knoll carrying the Olympic Torch and 'presented' said torch to a male athlete who proceeded to sprint around the original track before setting off on the long trek to Sydney. This ceremony, repeated for every Olympics, dates back to 776 BC, nearly 3000 years.

February 20, 2012

Many, many years ago we used to occasionally visit with a family in North Carolina. They had a black maid named Mary who was the grand-child of a family that several generations back, prior to the Civil War, had been 'owned' by the family we were visiting. Mary was the grand-child of a slave family. I remember sitting at the kitchen table while Mary prepared supper. She'd look over at me and ask me to tell her what life was like in Canada where people like her were really free. For all intents and purposes this kind, soulfull woman was still a slave who yearned for freedom. I also remember the 'lady' of the house yelling down the stairwell, "Mary, get your black ass up here, this very minute." From such tiny pieces is the puzzle of our lives constructed.

January 25, 2012

We'd just arrived at the union hall over in Brantford and were milling about at the door waiting for the 'dance' to get underway. This obnoxious lesbian looked me up and down and snarled, "I didn't invite YOU. Pay for your own ticket." None of the people I'd driven over — who HAD been invited I guess, and had been given tickets already — said anything, so I dutifully paid over my five dollars to the attendant at the door. Odd way for them to behave, since as a non-drinker, I was the 'designated driver' and they were dependent on me to get them back to Simcoe safely. In retrospect, what I should have done of course was walk out and leave them stranded there. I did however thrash it out with them a few days later after they'd sobered up. As the evening progressed things went from bad to worse. I'd never seen a group of gay men and lesbians so over-the-top, falling-down, sloshingly drunk in all the years I'd lived in Toronto and Ottawa. (Hey, maybe that's why the folks at CAS denied you the right to foster children. Maybe it WASN'T my fault after all. Ya think?) This was gay life in the boonies? Sorry, Brantford. Addendum: It's very poor form to sit in a guy's lap, burp in his face, vomit all over him amd then demand sex. It ain't gonna happen. At least not with this dude.

January 5, 2012

Down at the Simcoe Mall one day, I stopped for a chat with a gay man I've know since I was a little boy. We'd only been talking for a few minutes when this woman came flying out of the Coles bookstore and inserted herself between us so that we could no longer converse. I looked at him over her shoulder. He looked back at me. We both shrugged, he looked embarassed and I turned and walked away. The only alternative was to give this ignorant bitch a richly-deserved slap on the side of her head.

December 29, 2011

There I sat — it was a wet, windy, bitterly cold Ottawa evening — on the ledge surrounding the Fountain of the Provinces in front of our parliament buildings. I'd been attending an AIDS 'memorial' and was waiting for Bob Read before making my way over to the ACO offices. I looked up and there was a woman standing in front of me holding out a microphone. (Who can resist a microphone? Not I.) She was from the CBC Radio's Ottawa Bureau and looking for someone to interview. (I guessed that she'd been given a cold shoulder by Gay Inc.) While I can't recall all of the interview, one point I made rather foroefully was that Prime Minister Brian Mulroney and his governing Tories wouldn't do a bloody thing to help until a member of Mulroney's own family was struck down with hiv/AIDS. I figured the interview was a local matter and might make it onto the evening news as a filler at the end. How wrong I was. It went national. And it got noticed by the PMO. By this time Bob was standing there, grinning ear-to-ear. "Well you've gone and done it now, Harnick. They'll never forgive you for that one." My reception at the ACO offices was chilly to say the least. Funny thing though. Brian Mulroney and his family suddenly developed a very real interest in those suffering from hiv/AIDS. I was left with a new respect for Brian Mulroney, if not for his party.

December 24, 2011

After we finally got through IDF security — a very lengthy process — and were allowed to disembark from our cruise ship in the port city of Ashdod, we were loaded onto an elderly 1950s vintage military bus that had steel grids welded over its windows. Welcome to modern-day Israel. We were about to discover just how useful those steel grids were as we proceeded to enter the West Bank on our way to visit the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. While passing through various small villages along the way, our bus was constantly being pelted with rocks the size of softballs by hospitable, peace-loving Palestinians. It was all a tad un-nerving.

December 21, 2011

I was out very early one morning taking a leisurely stroll through the outdoor shopping mall in Benalmádena, Spain. As I rounded a corner down near the waterfront, I was confronted by a woman out walking her 'pet' tiger held in check only by a diamond-studded leather leash. Europeans sure do live differently.

December 16, 2011

It seems the odds are astronomically high that one carton of eggs would contain six double yolks. A few months ago, we purchased a carton of eggs at Simcoe's Sobeys store and every single egg in the cartoon was a so-called double-yolker. All twelve of them. I wonder if the eggs were laid by genetically-modified hens. Hmmmm.

December 4, 2011

It was an overcast, coolish and occasionally rainy day when we visited Delphi, in Greece. I'd climbed up the rather steep hill to the Oracle's temple, given the local museum a quick and dirty walk-through and was waiting beside the tour bus for the rest of our group to assemble. Suddenly a bus full of children roared into the parking lot. There were rainbow flags hanging out the windows of the bus and, as the kids and their adult chaperons gleefully tumbled out, I noticed that several of their backpacks were adorned with big pink triangles and even bigger rainbow patches. Intrigued, I walked over and engaged the bus's driver in a brief conversation. As it turned out, they were from the Netherlands. While Canadians were, and still are, beating on and even driving our rainbow kids to suicide, in Holland they were sending them by the bus load on cultural tours to other European nations.

November 26, 2011

We'd only been in Madrid for a few hours and decided to take in one of the local landmarks for supper. As we descended the stairway into Botins — the world's oldest restaurant, and justly famous for their roast suckling pig — we quite literally ran into Herb Carter, Ross Clapp and their spouses. A small world, indeed.

November 3, 2011

I remember motoring into Rome one spring day and it seemed that the whole world was carpeted with field after field of gorgeous blood-red poppies. A fitting memorial, for a certainty.

October 25, 2011

When I lived in Ottawa, I had a pal named Bob Read. (Bob has since departed this veil of tears.) Bob got dragooned into attending a performance of Handel's Messiah. Nothing would do but that I had to attend as well. For the next year or so, every time we drove by a church, he'd start to sing "We like sheep..." under his breath, as it were. A 'statement' of personally held belief if ever there was one.

October 19, 2011

Greenpeace is currently celebrating its 40th anniversary. What a ride it's been. Back in the mid-80s I was downtown one day and wearing my Greenpeace button. One of the local bigots came up to me, tore the button from my jacket and threw it onto the ground. Just another example, as if one more were needed, of this community's soul-destroying intolerence and total lack of respect for boundaries.

October 1, 2011

I recall one of my in-laws, my uncle's sister actually, patiently explaining to me, in words of one syllable, that, if your family doesn't treat you well and stand up for you, then it gives the rest of the community permission to treat you badly and beat on you. How true that is. I even noticed this with the local "Faggots". They'd come up to my mom and dad, and later just my mom, and speak to them but deliberately shut me out of the conversation [do you see yourself Doug?], even form a circle with me standing on the outside. This is sick behaviour. So old Simcoe.

September 27, 2011

Several years ago, just before he died, Jack Eaid approached me in the Norfolk County Public Library's Simcoe branch. I'd know Jack most of my life and always kind of liked him. He apologized to me but didn't tell me what he'd done. I guess he assumed that I knew — in retrospect it's probably better that I don't. I guess he was just clearing the decks as it were and it couldn't have been easy for him. Still I do wonder what it was that he was apologizing for. It must have been pretty dire.

September 8, 2011

This disgusting and appalling mess that the catholic church has deliberately and maliciously created in Mississauga and Toronto, Ontario harkens back to their efforts here in Simcoe to tear my family to shreads and drive me out of my home and out of the community. At the time they even turned on their own church members who didn't agree with what they were doing. Those on the legion casino bus — both for and against — were a literal gold mine of information at the time.

August 8, 2011

Enough already about our local pink sheep. One evening just around dusk we looked out the windows in the kitchen and observed a group of local youth conducting some kind of prayer vigil on our side lawn. Perhaps they were expecting the second coming of Elvis? Who's to know? One can only suppose the devil made them do it. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

August 6, 2011

Sometime in the late 1980s, I visited a gay bar in Hamilton (Windsor Arms?). The bouncer came over to where I was standing/leaning and demanded that I leave because a table of 'guests' from Simcoe didn't want me in 'their' bar. That's a pretty malicious thing to do to anyone at the best of times. Anyway I offered to call for a policeman and let him settle it. My offer was politely declined and that was the end of that. The bouncer backed off and returned to his post. I stayed and the trouble makers spent the rest of the evening pouting and crying into their beer.

Fast forward to 2007 or thereabouts. My friend Rob Duckworth drove me down to the local gay men's campground near Vittoria to have a look around. (Max found a big water hole and had a grand time.) We went in the fall after it had been closed down for the winter because Rob was afraid that I wouldn't be allowed in during the summer season. Rob was painfully aware of what was going on.

What was/is going on is not only ignorant but dangerously cruel. The favourite past times of Simcoe/Norfolk County's GLTs seem to be gossiping and "trashing" me. So gay?

July 29, 2011

I really have to ask this question. It's been bugging me for over a year now. Does Simcoe's McDonalds restaurants have an written/unwritten policy of serving burnt food to GLT customers or to customers perceived to be GLT in order to discourage them from eating in the establishments? I recall in Ottawa having a bucket of dirty water deliberately poured over my feet and the feet of a friend. Just wondering if it's the same old bull shit down here in Simcoe. McDonalds has a ghastly reputation for pooping on GLT customers just about everywhere and it's really time that it stopped. Who in hell do these yobs think they are?

June 26, 2011

I was walking down Norfolk Street one afternoon when I caught sight of a gay man I'd known since early childhood. He saw me too and actually crawled in under the truck he was loading to avoid a meeting. Me being me when I drew level with the vehicle I got down on my hands and knees and said "Hi" anyway. Somewhat bemused by the encounter I then proceeded on my way. Life in Simcoe can certainly be a challenge and I couldn't get down on my hands and knees these days if my life depended on it.

June 22, 2011

We were out shopping at the old Zehrs store out on highway 3 and we turned down one of the aisles. A couple of men were completely blocking said aisle and chatting away. One of them said that it was like the guy was being stalked. Right then he turned and saw us and blushed to the roots of his hair. At that point I realized that others were also aware of what was going on in dear old Simcoe and I no longer felt quite so isolated and alone.

June 3, 2011

AIDS at 30. I recall being in the washroom of Buddy's Bar in downtown Toronto around about 1980. A rather shabbily dressed, smelly young man at the next urinal, who, as it tuned out, was visiting from San Francisco, kept nudging my arm and pointing at his groin area. Finally, I gave in and looked down only to see a mass of smallish purple lesions covering his entire genital region. I'd never seen Kaposi's sarcoma until then; but I knew intuitively that something was dreadfully wrong.

May 27, 2011

Over a decade ago the mother of a local gay teenager described the original Life on Brian's Beat as a "truly wondrous place to visit" and every visit "like a treasure hunt".

May 5, 2011

This month marks the 50th anniversary of the March from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama.

In early May of 1965, I was sitting in the student activity center of my college enjoying a few moments of quiet and a cup of dreadful coffee with the college's chaplin. We were sitting just outside of his office so that he could hear if the phone rang. It did.

When he returned a few minutes later he was silent for a few minutes and then told me that a group of Canadian activists were trying to raise a contingent of students and others to join a march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama.

It was one of those déjà vu moments and I shared with him something that had happened to me a few years before in Richmond, Virginia.

We were out shopping one morning and went into Woolworths to grab a bite to eat. Me being me I headed for the "Blacks Only" lunch counter and sat down. The poor woman working behind the counter didn't know what to do but finally shoed me away albeit kindly. Again me being me I immediately went over to the "Blacks Only" drinking fountain and took a long, satisfying swig. It was not well received.

As I was being uncerimoniously herded out the door, I glanced up and there he was looking quizzically down at me and probably wondering what all the fuss was about. On that morning so long ago Dr. King and I were precisely where we each needed to be. It was many years later before I realized that the handsome young man with him was Bayard Rustin.