San Francisco
Part 30
Staying at the Inter-Continental Hotel on Nob Hill meant that we could take a tram to the Embarcadero at the edge of San Francisco Bay, in Market Street. That was where the Parade would begin.
Pop loved that old-fashioned mode of travel, and was telling me about some of the Market Street trams. “There’s a red, orange and silver one labeled ‘Pacific Electric’ for the Los Angeles transit system that was dismantled in 1945, a year after I was born.”
“A genuine antique, huh?”
“Don’t be cheeky. Other trams are from places like Boston, Cincinnati, and St. Louis. I believe there’s even a Sydney tram.”
“From Australia? Wow!”
“There’s an orange one from Portugal, vintage about 1925. And there are old local trolleys, one from 1915 with lots of polished oak and mahogany, and brass fittings. Don’t make ‘em like that anymore.”
“Why use old trams?”
“They’re a living piece of history.”
“Like you.”
“Behave. And they’re interesting. They add more character to a city already full of character. Or should that be ‘characters’.”
“You’d think they’d be worn out by now. The trams, I mean.”
“They’re maintained by a crew that enjoys doing it. Often they continue to run when the new computerized subway cars break down.”
I could hardly believe the crowds! The Parade was due to start at 10am but already there were people ten to fifteen deep lining the sidewalks outside the Embarcadero. Some of them had arrived hours earlier, cordoning off areas and setting up ice-chests full of food and drink, as well as lounge chairs. And there were rainbow flags flying from almost every building. This was seriously gay!
“How the fuck are we gonna see anything?” I complained as I stood behind a bunch of people. Then my brain’s imagination kicked in. “Hey, Pop, time for some Daniel ingenuity.”
“Don’t do anything to embarrass me, Daniel. Please!”
“Chill out and follow me.” Pop and I worked and wriggled our way through the throng until we came upon a cordoned-off area that was right on the kerbside, and that belonged to a bunch of gays. All the while, Pop was behind me asking me over and over again what I was planning. “Just be patient,” I kept insisting. “I know what I’m doing.” Once I was standing pretty close to the cordoned-off area, I took off my t, wrapped it around my waist, and smiled at one of the guys, who immediately tapped his nearest buddy on the shoulder.
“There’s room in here for one more,” the first guy said with a wink as he eyed my tanned chest.
“Only one?”
“Are you with someone?”
“Yeah.” Then I pointed at my old buddy. “I’m with Pop.”
“Oh… I see… family. So you’re only here for the spectacle. You’re not… one of us?”
“Pop’s not family. He’s a cool bud.”
The two dudes had a bit of a confab for a moment, then the first guy invited us inside the cordoned-off area. “My name’s Jerry, and this is Ben.” We all shook hands, then were introduced to the other guys; three of them. All the guys were in their early to mid 20s and seemed pretty macho – lots of leather and that kinda thing - but I could tell they were gay just by their mannerisms. You wouldn’t have seen them for dust if a single mouse had suddenly appeared. Anyway, they were cool, and offered Pop and me a drink right away.
It was about 15 minutes before the Parade was due to start, so I got the whole ‘where are you from?’ and ‘why are you here?’ routine from all the guys. I explained pretty much everything, including how Pop and I had met, and the fact that he was an author. That impressed the dudes big time.
“An author?”
“Not a famous one,” Pop was quick to say. “I write stories about scallywags like Daniel.”
“Scallywag? This little angel? Oh, no! I don’t believe it!” Jerry laughed. “He’s way too cute to be a scallywag! So where can I read your stories?”
By the time Jerry had written the site’s URL on a piece of paper, the Parade was ready to begin. We had a perfect view, thanks to our hosts… any my tanned pecs, of course. Ha, ha! The Women’s Motorcycle Contingent kicked off the proceedings, followed by what Jerry told us would be about 200 contingents of marchers and floats, representing all kinds of ethnic groups and organizations.
“The Pride Parade brings hundreds of thousands of people out to watch,” he explained. “They’re expecting about 800,000 this year. They’re of every description, from ordinary folks like Aunt Polly and Aunt Esther from Iowa – who love to check out the hunky, half-naked guys, but who are nevertheless somewhat nonplussed by the goings on – to the naked guy who wears only a coat of purple paint. Have you seen him? He’s a hoot! Ugly as shit, but, hey, it’s party time and anything goes. Well, almost anything.”
“Any nudies?”“There are quite a few who show lots of skin – way too much in some cases. They’re not all hot lookers like you, Daniel. Which is a damn shame,” he winked. “Like the 300 pound, bare-breasted lesbians, or the fat, bearded hairy guys in leather chaps with their big butts and bellies hanging out. Not a good look if you ask me.”
“If they look so gross, why do they do it?”
“Like I said, it’s party time. Anyway, it’s not really a celebration of the body. If it were, all the marchers would look like you.” He took a moment to gawk at my chest. “It’s more about gay rights and that kinda thing – freedom from oppression.”
“What oppression?”
“Things like gays and lesbians being able to marry; being able to adopt kids – there’s a whole range of issues.”
“Marry? Why would they wanna get married? Why not just live together?”
“People want their relationships to be legal. They want what they do in bed to be legal. They want equality.”
“You wanna get married?”
“Are you offering?”
“Fuck, no!” I cracked, then turned to Pop. “Hey, Pop, how come you’ve never wanted to get married?”
“The opportunity never arose. I’ve never been in love to that extent. But I can imagine two same-sex people being in that situation and wanting to marry just like an opposite-sex couple. People who want to settle down, raise a family, and live their lives together.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get married.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I’m having too much fun!”
“You won’t always be like that, Daniel. We all change as we get older.”
“Maybe. Anyway, I’ll figure that out when the time comes.”
When the time comes? Was I gonna be like Jerry and his buds when I was in my 20s? I didn’t wanna be any different to what I was now. I didn’t wanna think about marriage or any of that serious crap. I was happy being a carefree teen, able to have sex with all my buds without any strings attached. OK, so Paul got a bit possessive now and then, but he was just as horny as I was. One look at Dick or Freddie or Benny or whoever and his hormones were going totally crazy.
Actually, I was wondering if Jerry and his buds were into sex like my buds and I were. Y’know, sex with anyone you fancied at any particular time. But I didn’t have the nerve to ask. Hey, I hardly knew the guys! But I figured if they liked my bod, and that that was the reason they’d invited me and Pop to join them in their cordoned-off area, then they must’ve been turned on by my hunky looks, and that had to mean… well, that they were promiscuous. That’s what I really didn’t understand about the marriage thing. If gay guys were naturally promiscuous, why would they wanna get married? Maybe I’d ask Pop about it later on.
Meantime, the parade was totally awesome. Sure, there were the crazy people all dressed up in weird and totally rad costumes, but there were regular peeps as well. One float had a bunch of karate dudes on board. Now, who the fuck was gonna call a karate dude a faggot? Ha ha! No way, Jose. Not if he wanted to stay healthy. Come to think of it, anyone who called me a faggot would be in for the same fucking treatment. And there was this really neat car carrying the city mayor. Jerry told me that it was a 1930 Lincoln open tourer. “The city bought it when it was brand new, and has been using it as a parade car for 73 years!”
I also got a chance to check out the people in the crowd nearby. It was a mix of all types. Families and kids, young and old, weird and not so weird, dressed and almost undressed. At one stage, I spotted the old ‘chrome-dome’ dude I met on a Frisco tram one day – Jim. He was on his way to church at the time, and we gotten around to chatting about some of the people on the streetcar. Anyway, we recognized each other, and smiled.
"Ubi caritas et amor, ibi Deus est," he said. “Nice to see you again.”
“What did he say?” Pop asked.
“Something about love crossing all barriers. God doesn’t fit into anyone’s idea of him. It’s latin. He’s a preacher.”
“How do you know that?”
“Hey, he’s an old bud,” I grinned, and confused the hell outa Pop, not to mention Jerry and his buds.
After the Parade, we all went to the celebration at the Civic Center, where there were ten stages of different performers – some really famous like the B-52s – to entertain the crowds. And I mean crowds! Whoa! There were also a zillion food stalls to pig out at, Mmmmm!, plus lots of other stalls offering all kinds of merchandise.
We stopped by the Lyric booth – Lavender Youth Recreaction and Information Center – where they were handing out free condoms. I took one and checked it out. ‘COMPLEMENTS OF GAY YOUTH SAN FRANCISCO’ was printed along the side. “Hey, you’d better give Pop about a dozen or more,” I said in all seriousness. Yep, you guessed it. Pop got all bent outa shape again, and turned brilliant crimson.
“Why do you insist on embarrassing me like that?”
“You gotta learn to chill out, Pop.”
Jerry and his buds were hanging to party big time, and I knew that Pop was kinda feeling a bit outa place, like a spare prick at a wedding, so I figured I’d stick with him. Besides, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to party with a bunch of 20-somethings. Maybe they were into shit that I wasn’t ready for yet. So my old bud and I thanked Jerry for his hospitality during the Parade, swapped phone numbers, then took a walk ‘til we found a quiet coffee shopCopyright © 2003 All rights reserved. mrbstories
