continued cruelty was a major factor in my decision to spend as much time away from home as possible. Nobody seemed to notice that I was staying after school with the choir director more and more. I learned every song from memory that my junior high music teacher would give me, and I started playing the clarinet. I started behaving one way at home and completely differently in school. I was so outgoing in school, it was maddening. At home, I fell into such a silence that often nobody knew I was around. I hid behind books: classics, poetry, romantic Western novels, Rin Tin Tin, other dog stories, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. The local librarian became my best friend. Often, she suggested new books that I should read.
All of this was superseded by my study of the Bible. I quietly searched for some saving force that could take my stepfather out of my life. I leaned heavily on the Old Testament and the fire-and-brimstone God who had rescued Israel from Egypt. People saw me reading the Bible all the time, but seldom did they ask me specifically what I was reading. I struggled with the knowledge that I had grown to hate my stepfather, but I figured God would forgive me because I had given my heart and my talent to singing sacred Christian songs in praise of Jehovah and Jesus Christ. Nobody was perfect.
Even though I carried a copy of the Bible small enough to fit into my book bag, I wasn’t thinking about the Bible all the time. Sometimes I would surprise myself when I realized I was thinking about boys. Nobody ever mentioned anything about being gay or straight, but I did hear sermons from time to time that laid out, in detail, what the preacher would call an abomination in Sodom and Gomorrah—men sleeping with men.
I wondered over and over if this warm feeling in the pit of my stomach for one of my buddies was sinful. I dared to bring the subject up several times with a couple of my friends, who quickly told me to put it out of my mind. It was not a subject that was supposed to be discussed, even among friends. Well then, whom was I supposed to discuss it with? I already knew that I could not divulge this secret to my brother and sisters. So, I prayed and kept this warmth to myself.
I DIDN’T NEED A HIGH IQ TO NOTICE THAT MOST OF THE students in my class at Hayes Junior High School were white or Jewish even though the school was supposed to be integrated. Of the 1,300 or so students, ethnic groups were all about evenly divided: one-third white, one-third Jewish, and one-third black. I later learned that the school system utilized a track system, which was based partially on race and family economics. All the students in my class were white. All thirty-three, except for me. I was in the second track most of the time. Sometimes I was in the first track. In my view, it was unfair, and I often wondered how the officials in the public school system could justify their decision to segregate most of the black students.
This kind of subtle, systematic racism continued through junior high school and into high school. Because of my love of music, I continued to play in the band and sing in the choir. When my voice began to change, the kind junior high school music teacher, Miss Williams, insisted that I attend choir anyway and learn all the music until I could sing with the group again. Eventually, I went from boy alto to young tenor. I was hoarse a lot, but the period didn’t last very long. In addition to singing in school, I also sang on variety shows and in talent contests and earned the nicknames Blue Bird and Moon River.
Without my parents’ knowledge, I helped to start a rock ’n’ roll singing group of six guys called The Jokers. We would practice on the walk home from Hayes Junior High or when we got to my friend Hiawatha’s house. His parents didn’t mind our singing at all. Our group only lasted three years, but it was one of the most fun things I’ve ever done. I became more aware of the songs of Ray Charles, Frankie Lymon, Little Anthony and the Imperials, The Coasters, Sam Cooke, and many others.
Hiawatha was dark, handsome, and six feet tall even in junior high. I felt he had a sweet baritone voice and even sweeter lips. I could have sung with him forever. He had a good sense of rhythm, as we used to make up routines like The Temptations or Gladys Knight & The Pips. We’d move the furniture around his room so we could master the routines easier, and we’d sit in his room and listen for hours while his mother cleaned the house or cooked dinner. His daddy was a bus driver, and sometimes I’d run into him when I rode the Elm Street bus.
All of us guys would imitate the records. We’d put on a record and pretend we had microphones, or tie our heads up in do-rags, and move around like the Edsels or The Coasters or Little Anthony and The Imperials. I used to pretend that I was the lead singer. I wasn’t surprised that I could do it.
Sometimes it was just Hiawatha and me, and I’d put on Dinah Washington or Etta James and sing just like them. Hiawatha loved it when I acted like Dinah Washington or Ruth Brown. He’d laugh real nice and say, “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” and then he’d smile some more and say, “Do it again!” And I would.
Hiawatha was an only child, and his parents doted on him. They were always telling him that he was special, “even though he was black.” I used to listen to the way they talked to him and silently wished that my mother and stepfather would talk to me the same way. After a while, I realized that even though he was a really good singer, he was not very bright in school. In fact, he was worse academically than my brother, so I often helped him with his homework. He had terrible handwriting; I helped him with that. In a short time, his grades improved, and he began to enjoy studying. Partly because of that, his parents welcomed me into their home often.
In Hiawatha’s room, as we sat or lay close on the bed, I’d imitate Ray Charles and Frankie Lymon. He’d sing lead on The Drifters’ songs or on The Coasters’ songs. We harmonized easily. He had a rich, low voice already, and I still sang high.
During those times, I realized that while I was singing like Dinah Washington or Ruth Brown, I was feeling very easy and “natural,” like my mother or any woman. I didn’t pretend I liked any girls, and I didn’t want to hug or kiss any girls. I imagined myself walking “down the aisle of love” in my wedding dress, like my cousin, Johnny Mae. I was feeling really happy. When I sang then, I knew that my songs had feelings and not just pretend emotions. I was, for those few sweet moments, Mary Wells with her two lovers, like The Marvelettes, asking Mr. Postman for “a letter for me.” Those were the kind of songs I could sing when I was walking home by myself or in my room with the door closed and nobody told me to act “regular” or not to act “like a girl!”
When Dinah Washington and Brook Benton came out with their famous duets, like “Baby, You’ve Got What It Takes,” and “A Rockin’ Good Way,” I, of course, sang Dinah’s part and Hiawatha sang Brook’s part. It seemed as natural as anything to me. I knew right away that all of this was very different from church. Singing with Hiawatha made me feel sexy, and I sometimes looked longingly at him and wondered what if we could hold each other like Brook and Dinah did? What if we could kiss sometime like in the movies? But nothing ever happened, even when I slept over and we were in the same bed. He was warm and comforting next to me, but he always turned his back to me and went to sleep.
More and more, I became aware that this music and the closeness of my buddy was sexy. Rock ’n’ roll was sexy. At first, I thought everyone felt the way I did. One day while singing and feeling sexy, I pulled him close to me and rubbed our crotches together. I pretended that we were grinding. I’d seen other guys do this with girls during the slow dances at socials. But Hiawatha let me know that grinding was really reserved only for “chicks.” There were certain things we fellas could discuss, but we really wanted to get the girls alone to grind and do the rest. I didn’t know what “the rest” was, but he talked about it so matter-of-factly that I pretended I did. I wanted to continue to be able to be close to him.
Hiawatha seemed to say all the right things about what men felt and what I was supposed to be happily learning to do. I just couldn’t tell him that I was
