acted as facilitator in Michael’s absence. He was far less revealing about himself except for the endless minor calamities in his household affairs—leaking pipes, loss of keys, and computer crashes. He sometimes mentioned some details from his past life and lovers, but only as comments on other participants’ stories. A man of somewhat distinguished appearance who now lived alone, he had no regrets about his earlier years. In his retirement he was engaged in a late career in musical composition and was active in organizing occasional weekend and holiday outings to museums or the movies, which included some of the veteran participants. I also occasionally met him at other Center activities. Although he spoke little and avoided emotional outbursts, his comments, offered in a very restrained tone, were often instrumental in facilitating a smooth continuation of meetings that lacked an evocative theme for a more lively discussion, and thus saved the gathering from early dispersal. Reserved and analytical, he would have been a good candidate had the group required a professional facilitator.
In his late fifties, Jack was a dedicated regular for whom SAGE was his only gay circle in New York. He divided his life, as well as his public identity, between gay and straight. He considered himself gay but was closeted at work, at home, in his church, and in his community. He was in the thirtieth year of a happy marriage to a woman who had long ago discovered his other life but remained with him after he promised never to “shame” her. Their two sons were unaware of their father’s secret life, and although married, they remained very close to their parents. Jack’s robust, extrovert manner, his avowed loyalty to his church, and his conservative attitudes in various spheres gave no clue—stereotypically—to his homosexuality. But for many years, apart for the SAGE weekly participation, Jack acted out his gay identity also at his cottage on the New Jersey shore. His family and friends tolerated his dedication to his beach retreat as a special addiction that did no harm. Here Jack enjoyed complete freedom to express his sexual orientation. He sometimes invited friends and new acquaintances from SAGE meetings out to his house, but more often he looked for male company at the bars and beaches in his Jersey community. Over the years, he had shared the house with two lovers, with each of whom he had had long partnerships before separating. He still lamented the loss of his partners who left him as they looked for full-time lovers.
At most meetings Jack related experiences from the preceding weekend stay at his cottage. He had a reputation in the group as an incurable romantic and a relentless seeker of a love-based relationship. He was convinced he had no desire for one-night stands. Nevertheless, he experimented with occasional dates, particularly since most patrons at gay establishments located around his weekend retreat represented a more reliable clientele, well off and older than the bar regulars in New York City. He felt close to the old-timers, including those who were not really “his cup of tea.” He was particularly happy with the arrival of Tony, whose Italian ethnic tradition soon made him a close pal.
A large but unprepossessing man in his mid-fifties, John seemed less educated than most other regulars. He was often described as a tireless cruiser and was once reprimanded by Michael, who noticed him leaving a meeting for a long break, which he assumed John spent at another Center activity checking out the men there. John apologized, embarrassed as a schoolboy caught doing something naughty. At one meeting he spoke of his recent vacation in Mexico. Once there, he confessed, he had wasted no time in searching for sex and had a good time with young local men whom he soon met at the nearby plaza. His sexual adventures were safe and inexpensive but left him no time to visit the ancient ruins he wished to see. John was open about his attraction to young men, a desire he could not easily satisfy in New York. Someone in the group asked John why he didn’t invite one of these accommodating “boys” home with him to New York.
Sam, a college administrator in his mid-fifties, was a prominent regular whose follies nevertheless commanded respect. He was a man of striking physical presence, tall and heavy, with a generous and humorous manner. At the first meeting I saw him, he was edgy and related the troubles of the day—noisy neighbors who incessantly made his life intolerable and his closest friend’s arrest for causing a public disturbance due to his alcoholism. About a month later Sam happily told the group that he had invited a gorgeous heterosexual young man he met at an AA meeting to stay at his apartment rent-free. His adoring description was confirmed later the same evening when the charming houseguest joined Sam at the post-meeting get-together.
Sam happily indulged his new friend. He had already spent a few thousand dollars on him. A member of the group hearing this jokingly complained: “You gave me only $5 for a blow job, but you showered this heterosexual with $3,000!” Sam replied: “Yes, but I have love.” Sam rented a luxury car and gave it to his new friend to drive them around. Together they saw the sights outside New York. But Sam’s happiness was short-lived. A few weeks later he was deep in trouble. His handsome friend had disappeared with the car, and Sam was accountable for its loss. He now discovered that his dream boy had already ripped off others, men and women alike, who were victims of his charms. Sometime later, after the man turned himself in to the police and was awaiting trial for a long list of other felonies, Sam told us his heart was hurting. He wished he could have him released from jail. He had enjoyed so much opening his heart to the young man, who gratified him with affection, calling him “Dad.” His listeners reacted with a mixture of amazement and empathy.
Irving, a sixty-year-old university history professor, a regular, prominent not for his physical bearing but for his sagacity, humor, and sharp analyses of his colleagues’ behavior, seemed less sympathetic to Sam’s plight. In a critical tone he told Sam he should have exerted more self-control against this irrational and destructive attraction. Sam reacted angrily to Irving’s reprimand: “You should allow people to show their feelings and let others listen to them.” Paul defended Sam, referring to the themes of irrationality, chaos, and the incompatibility of reason and emotion in his own musical compositions. For myself, I was ambivalent. I was appalled by Sam’s self-inflicted injury but felt empathy for his predicament. I offered support for Sam, likening his compulsive attraction to a charming heterosexual—and a crook at that—to the aging professor’s pathetic attraction to the handsome young boy in Death in Venice.
From their interaction at the meeting, I assumed Irving and Sam represented two fundamentally contradictory personalities with little to breach their contrasting temperaments. Yet I soon had an opportunity to discover I was wrong. As we walked together after the meeting to the nearby diner we saw a group of transsexuals who had just left the Center. I was surprised to overhear Irving joke with Sam about the miyeskeyts (Yiddish for “uglies”). Cooling off from their heated exchange, they enjoyed a campy conversation that made use of a shared ethnic vocabulary. Sam and Irving, in fact, had a far warmer relationship than I first assumed. At the diner following the meetings, they often entertained the crowd with their campy impersonations of Carmen Miranda and other gay icons.
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