In some ways I am a Republican.
In other ways I am a Democrat.
Party loyalty is overrated and inevitably leads to hypocrisy, laziness and puts you in a position to be easily manipulated especially now when the two party system has abandoned principles and ideology reducing it to a cheap sporting event between two teams fueled by ego and greed where winning the argument has become more important than solving the problem.
I’d rather run the risk of thinking for myself.
I was remembering the first time I ever noticed great acting, The first time I thought to myself that what I was seeing was so good because the acting was so good. The first time I tuned in just to watch someone act. The first actor I studied.
It was Carroll O’ Connor in All in the Family.
The most obvious accomplishment was how he managed to make a man who says such deplorable and offensive things likeable. I think he achieved this by constantly showing how much he loved his wife and daughter.
But there is more going on than that. The technique. His sense of timing, His ability to hold for the laugh. It seems to me his incredible timing came from two things - confidence and relaxation. He ranted and raved but never forced and he let the writing do most of the work for him.
Even his sense of focus. Imagine Archie and Edith in their respective chairs. You always believed he was talking to her but he rarely looked at her. He was acting with her but always playing to the camera. That was when I realized you do not always have to look at someone on stage when you were talking to them.. It seems obvious now but I was about eleven years old. To be able to relate to the other actors and simultaneously be sharing with the audience - that’s everything and that’s was Carrol O’ Connor. A life long member of the Actor’s Studio.
And then I started to see him in other things and he was completely different. The swagger, the faces, the accent, That wasn’t him. Everything was a choice.
He was so funny and touching and quick and made television history in probably one of the most difficult roles television has ever seen. So much of television depends on likeability and in the hands of a lesser actor the show would not have lasted a week.
So here’s cheers for O’Connor!
from a friend -
In my 20s I KNEW I KNEW everything.
In my 30s I realized I KNEW nothing.
In my 40s I KNEW what I KNEW and I KNEW what I did not KNOW.
In my 50s I KNEW no one KNEW what they were talking about.
In my 60s I realized the grumpy old man I was scared of becoming - KNEW it all along.
What do you call a black man who flies an airplane?
A pilot.
I say tear them all down.
No one can live up to a monument.
No one deserves to be put on a pedestal.
What are we to do with someone like Mark Twain?
Mark Twain wrote what I believe to be the most beautiful and powerful book on racism in American that any white man has ever written. If you follow the friendship of Huckleberry Finn and Jim and you get to the end where Huck decides if being Jim’s friend means he is going to hell - “All right then. I’ll go to hell.” If that does not move you then you have ice in your blood.
This same man also hated Native Americans. He once said,” Knowledge of Indians and humanity are seldom found in the same individual.”
Martin Luther King was consistently unfaithful to his wife and there is great evidence to support the claim that he plagiarized his doctoral dissertation at Boston University.
What are we to do with him?
If it was not for Winston Churchill we would be living under the flag of the Third Reich., He also repeatedly expressed that he believed white people to be the superior race.
What are we to do with Mr. Churchill?
In some ways Thomas Jefferson was brilliant. In other ways he was disgusting.
The Lincoln Memorial is an impressive thing to witness but even Lincoln can not live up to it. No one can.
The problem is monuments to individuals over-simplify history. And that never leads to the truth. The truth in history comes from embracing all its contradictions and complexities,
And that each of us can relate to.
Admit it. Most of us ignore historical monuments in parks. How often have you have taken the time to look at them or even bothered to look at who it was? That is because we cannot relate to them. They are inhuman.
And that is the important thing to remember about great historical figures. They were human.
Not made of marble.
And therefore as relatable as they are memorable.
I say take them all down.
Black People cannot end racism in America.
They can rally against.
They can bring our attention to it.
They can fight against injustice
But they cannot end it.
It is not their problem.
It is our problem.
It is our perversion.
It is our cancerous thought,
We make it their problem.
And have for centuries.
And it will not end till every white person looks at themselves in the mirror-
Is honest about their history.
Is honest about the world they were raised in.
And vows to that pale face looking back at them-
IT ENDS WITH ME.
Goodnight Larry Kramer.
What a week for Larry Kramer to pass.
I think of all that he was. All that he represented. All that he did.
I think of the times we are living in now.
I saw a matinee of “The Normal Heart” at Center Stage in Baltimore when I was a junior in high school and came out to my parents that same night. What I saw on that stage was courage. Rage. Love. And romance. I saw two men on a date talking about books. I saw myself. And I found the courage to say so.
When I first moved to New York City for the summer during college, I attended my first Pride Parade. A friend invited me to join him in the alternate/protest march. The parade had gotten too commercial - too establishment. It was no longer about the neighborhood and pride. It was no longer about defiance. It was becoming about gay men as a commodity. I joined him.
I found myself marching next to Larry Kramer,
He must have noticed that I was visibly taken back by seeing him and being next to him so he came over to me and patted me on the back. I started to cry. He hugged me and I whispered in his ear, “Thank you.”
He smiled and said, “Just keep it going.”
The tiniest of moments, To treasure for a lifetime.
When I first came out of the closet as a gay man, the darkest days of AIDS were waiting to embrace me. This was way before all the medicinal cocktails that can keep those with HIV looking healthy and strong. I remember the men before that time. Beautiful men reduce to walking skeletons. Bones hanging on skin. AIDS terrified me and I swore to myself it would never be a part of my life. And I had troubles. I met men who weren’t interested in being safe. I once picked a guy up in a bar, brought him home and as things heated up I reached for the condom and he said, “Oh - you are one of those.” He refused to wear it. I ended up kicking him out.
I am now a 51 year old man with a rather satisfying sexual history, memories of beautiful men that I have shared that part of myself with and I never got it. I knew how not to get it.
(Forgive me if I sound preachy. I do not mean to shame anyone. I have had my close calls like many.)
My point is I knew how to best keep myself safe. Because of men like Larry Kramer who got the word out.
Now we find ourselves experiencing a global pandemic. We know the best way to keep ourselves safe.
And still people are not social distancing. Not wearing masks.
Just two days ago, I had to take a long walk through Brooklyn to get an important errand done. I repeatedly saw people walking the streets with no masks and no gloves.
A woman came around the corner with five children. One in a stroller and four walking freely. All under the age of nine, No masks. In Brooklyn! I had had it. I yelled at her.
“No MASKS? You are walking with your children and none of you are wearing masks. Shame on you. Shame on you.”
From that moment, I found myself confronting every person not wearing a mask until I returned home.
Larry Kramer taught me there are times when there are more important things than behaving yourself.
Times when health is a communal responsibility.
And now we are experiencing riots all over this country in response to racial injustice.
In 1987. Larry Kramer was one of the founders of AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power. (ACT UP)
Civil disobedience was its core.
And it succeeded. ACT UP accomplished all of its goals. Their demands were granted.
ACT UP worked because it had demands. The people in power knew what they wanted and therefore knew how to get rid of them. But they didn’t grant these demands overnight. They did it because ACT UP was relentless, committed and willing to go the distance. And they were specific. That’s why it worked..
I look at the protests now. Going back to Occupy Wall street. And I have to ask - what are the demands?
Be specific.
What is it you want?
A riot without a specific purpose may be justified rage released but it will serve no end.
And easily dismissed by the powerful.
You do not protest AGAINST something. You protest FOR something.
And you must be relentless. You do not give in till your demands are met.
The demands may not solve all the problems but then the rage and protest may become symbolic. And through that more change will come.
The powers that be in this country may criticize, shame and dismiss gay men still - but one thing they know for sure - Don’t go too far. Don’t piss us off.
Another consistent thread among all new protests and attempted movements is the lack of leadership. There is no wisdom at the helm.
We had Larry Kramer. And what would he say?
Let the world know what you want.
Be specific.
Be relentless.
There are times when there are more important things then behaving yourself.
And take care of each other.
These are lessons from Larry.
At the end of his life, Larry Kramer was working on a new play in response to the COVID-19 pandemic. He was to call it - “An Army of Lovers Must Not Die.”
Just keep it going.
The great Kenneth Williams told this story on Michael Parkinson’s talk show.
A theater company was touring “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” throughout the English country side and it was not doing well. The company faced financial ruin. They decided to find one very large arena, do one last show and make whatever money they could. They chose a sports stadium and because there was a star in the cast the stage manager went to the management and asked what was the best room backstage to give the star actor for his dressing room.
“Oh. that’ll be the umpires room.”
The night of the show the stage manager was going around giving the half hour call.
He knocked on the star’s dressing room and said, ”Half hour, sir.”
No response.
“Half hour, sir.”
No response.
He opened the door.
In the room he saw a table, On the table was a chair. Standing on the chair was the actor standing on his toes with his eye makeup in one hand and a small mirror in the other under the only light source in the room - a bare light bulb coming from the ceiling.
“Are you all right, sir?” the stage manger asked.
“Oh, I’m fine dear boy, but for the life of me I don’t know how these umpires manage.”
My first big audition was when I was in the sixth grade. It was for a two week summer camp for kids who liked Musical Theater.
In my neighborhood, elementary school ended in the sixth grade and middle school started in the seventh. The summer in between is a lost summer. It doesn’t belong anywhere. And neither did I.
I had fallen in love with musicals at an early age and was the only boy in the sixth grade choir. i got beat up a lot.
I wasn’t able to attend the audition date because my family had other plans. My mother got on the phone and talked to other adults and found another day when I could audition.
On the big day, we were running late, My mother had problems finding the college where the audition was being held and we had no time to grab something to eat. But we did make it on time.
There was a table of adults. They told me to go through a door. I did. The door opened to a theater. One of those huge community college theaters that no one knows quite what to do with. And the theater was full of kids. No waiting room. Everyone was in the theater watching everyone audition. The entire front section of the theater was packed with kids.
And not just any kids. High school kids.
High school theater kids.
Teenagers. Some of them probably dove. They may have even driven themselves to the audition. In their own cars.
And they all turned to look at the kid who had just opened the door. I was the last to arrive.
It suddenly dawned on me that because we had switched to a different date - I was the only sixth grader in the entire theater. I took the closest seat. On the aisle.
I looked around. The boys were dressed in what my mother called “dress jeans.” Many wore shirts with button down collars that were perfectly tucked in. More than a few wore black turtlenecks. I learned at that moment that that is what a serious actor wears - black turtlenecks.
The girls wore cool wood things in their hair to create a bun and weren’t ashamed of wearing glasses because they were cool glasses and that meant they were smart. They wore hippie-like skirts. There were scarves. But not keep -you -warm scarves. Decorative scarves. Creative types.
I was wearing my Easter suit. It was my only suit and it was a celebration of geometric pastel. The suit was three years old and it still fit. And it still itched. The bow tie didn’t help.
The auditions started. They were doing monologues. Long speeches from plays. But they weren’t doing them like speeches. They were pretending to talk to someone. Someone who wasn’t there. Three girls pretended to cry. I believed them. Two boys even did Shakespeare. The were both wearing black turtlenecks.
My audition piece was to sing “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile.” from the musical ANNIE. So far - no one else had sung. Of course not. This was the audition for the drama camp. What they called “straight plays.”. I was the only one singing.
I was the only one singing and I was the only one from elementary school.
I didn’t belong. Again.
They called my name.
I walked up to the stage carrying my black cassette recorder. I placed it at the lip of the stage to make sure everyone could hear my music teacher’s previously recorded piano accompaniment I then moved to center stage. I knew that much.
The music started to play. I started to sing.
I started to sing “You Are Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile.”
But I did not smile.
I did not move.
I froze.
I was an Easter Egg standing at attention.
And then I started to move .Or rather, my left leg started to move. Quiver, actually,
Then full on - shake.
Do they notice - or is it just happening within the pant leg?
I shifted and put weight on it to see if that would help.
It did not. My leg almost gave in.
I was hardly breathing. My stomach felt sick. My right hand joined the shaking.
Abruptly I stopped singing. I walked over to the cassette recorder, pushed STOP, grabbed it by the handle,leaped off the stage and proceed to speed walk down the center aisle passing all of the cool kids and there was only thought in the whole wide world - don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
I entered the lobby and lost it. Silently.
My mother had witnessed all of this. She had found her way up in to the balcony to secretly watch me audition. Mothers will do that.
She ran down the stairs and met me in the lobby..
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! i’m just hungry. I haven’t eaten all day and I am just hungry. I’m starving and I just…I just need something to eat.”
“OK. We will get you something to eat.” Practical solutions being my mother’s strong suit,
We went to a diner. I looked at the the menu. I ordered a bagel. I had never had one. I wasn’t even quite sure what they were.
The waitress asked, ” Cream cheese or lox.?”
I had no idea what a lox was but it certainly didn’t sound like anything I would want to eat.
“Cream cheese.” I knew that. It was the white stuff.
“Toasted.”
‘Please.” I didn’t really get what the other options were. It didn’t matter.
I was having my first bagel. We didn’t have them in the suburbs. But I was convinced that is what a cool theater kid would order.
It was urban. It was ethnic. It was new.
I ate it.
I said nothing.
My mother let me be.
I liked it,
My mother asked, “Do you feel better?”
“Yes. A little. But i’ll feel a lot better when we just go home. I just wanna go home.”
And then I got that look. The look only a mother can give. The look that told me we were not going home, We were going back.
I don’t remember paying the check. I don’t remember driving back to the college.. I don’t remember my mother negotiating to get me another shot. I don’t remember waiting again.
I don’t remember the audition.
But I do remember what happened after I sang.
The clapped.
I guess some of the kids had seen my first attempt.
They applauded.
Were they applauding because I was good or because I had come back?
Who cares?
I got in.
The Maryland Center for the Gifted and Talented.
Two weeks of summer camp with other kids my age who liked Musical Theater. Two weeks. It felt like two months. An hour and a half away from home and it felt like the other side of the world.
And, you know what?
People liked me.
I was popular.
The counselors liked me. And they were in college!
I heard things like - “You’re coming, right.?” “OK - meet you there.””Save me a seat!”
I even had a nickname.
But that was a long time ago.
And of course, I still get scared. I still speed walk down the aisle. Every now and then I even lose it in the lobby.
But now when i do. When I’m stuck. When I’m scared.
I ask myself one question. One simple question. And It always seems to do the trick.
“What’s the bagel?”