For over 50 years, Life magazine informed Americans about what was happening here and abroad. Photos and content were dramatic. Mostly conservative. Occasionally controversial. Once in a while, downright shocking. Life folded in 1973; circulation [...]
If one person single-handedly pushed this country into a War of Independence from England, it is patriot and pamphleteer Thomas Paine (1737 – 1809). His book “Common Sense” is a clarion call to open rebellion. [...]
This is the story of Dorian Lavender who has vanished from the party scene of music, stimulants and sex, and is now ironically beyond the saving grace of suddenly discarded friends of which there are many. (Perhaps you knew him too.)
As an emerging gay teenager, I attended Cass Technical High School where I was fortunate to soon discover there were others like myself in the process of coming out. Although back then there was no such thing as coming out, there was, however signaling — by dropping verbal hairpins — and exhibiting tell-tale touches of creative flamboyance.
As a recent resident of the Henry Ford Senior Retirement Village Community, consisting of some 800 units — I live in Berkshire Gardens — I have had some interesting, shall we say, metaphysical, perhaps psychic experiences. At separate dinner times, for starters, I've encountered three fellow diners — the food served at the St. Clair and Windows restaurants is excellent and varied — who are double takes for friends I have known for some time.
About a dozen days ago tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow — at my age how can I be sure? — I was gifted with a pair of John Lennon enchantment glasses. Gold-rimmed. Sunset orange. Autumn-tinted. Pre-Donald Trump, to be sure.
Just a few generations ago, the term homosexual was often qualified by adjectives. Alleged. Avowed. Rumored. Known! The descriptions were used by cautious media, police enforcement agencies and courtroom attorneys.
"Prophet Jones Jailed on Morals Charge" blared the Feb. 21, 1956 banner Free Press headline, with other papers gleefully tooting in. Thanks to a smart lawyer, the jury found Prophet Jones not guilty. It was a case of entrapment, pure (but not so simple)
There is little conscious planning as I create my art. I work intuitively and rather quickly. I start with a geometric shape, a humorous or serious doodle, a fluid symbol fished from my subconscious, a newly minted hieroglyph or alphabet, sometimes a line expressive of energy and movement, and I proceed from there.
Somewhere pressed in my book of tattered memories is a green carnation, still remarkably fresh with the passage of so much time.
Fifty years ago when closets were leased for a lifetime, it was SOP – standard operating procedure – to go by a catchy nickname.
As a teenager I learned the lay of the land from word-of-mouth sharing from those who had navigated Detroit's watering holes years before me. I did however once venture - daringly - on my own into the Greyhound Bus Depot to check out noonday comings and goings. I was cautious. I had been forewarned.
“Gay is good. You are not alone.” This was the slogan when the Affirmations LGBT Center opened its doors in Ferndale more than 20 years ago. It was a bold statement to make at the time: reassurance for many cautious, confused, isolated young people in need of understanding, trained organizational support and a place to hang out.
About a dozen days ago tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow — at my age how can I be sure? — I was gifted with a pair of John Lennon enchantment glasses.
GATORADE, Ariz.: I’m a skeptic concerning things supernatural; but the wonder-working weekend I spend reporting for BTL on the Drag Queens for Jesus confab is, well, miraculous – awe-inspiring. It’s also ecumenical, as the three-day [...]
1. In the year of the Trumpeted Mongrel 666 Beast of War endlessly chasing his flea-bitten tail, a prophet of restless dudes scaled Mt. Rush-No-More, seeking counsel with the electrifying powers that sometimes to Be (or, not to
During the Nazi reign of terror that ended only in Germany’s defeat by the American, English and French Allies in 1945, about 15,000 gay men were incarcerated in concentration camps from 1935 to 1944, where an estimated 60 percent of homosexual "schweinhund" were brutally worked to death.
Fifty years ago when gay ID closets were leased for a lifetime, it was SOP – standard operating procedure – to go by a catchy nickname.
The “Coffee Table Book of Astrology” tattles that “taurus is the astrological sign of sexual deviancy.”Or, as a friend of mine used to tell me year after year of our 40-year friendship, “Brandy” — his nickname for me, as in the alcoholic beverage, brandy Alexander — "May babies are gay babies.” There may be some truth to this observation.
An open house I attended a blossoming spring or two ago was winding down at the home of BTL co-publishers Jan Stevenson and Susan Horowitz. Two boys of some of the invited party guests were fussing over who’d get to release balloons at the festive closing of the couple's full bloom garden showcase.
As a gay teenager, I hung out at the Hub Grill in downtown Detroit, a greasy spoon of a place, located at the corners of Farmer and Bates in convenient walking distance of four quite popular gay bars, City Hall and the 1st Precinct Police Station!
According to a tad too many fundygelical church know-it-alls, we LGBTQs are doomed to spend an eternity in hell. (Purgatory be damned!) So agree President Trump and VP Mike Pence, America’s hand-me-down present political and past-tense, self-styled saints.
For over 50 years Life magazine informed Americans about what was happening here and abroad. Photos and content were dramatic. Mostly conservative. Occasionally controversial. Once in awhile downright shocking.
Perhaps it’s ironic — if not a touch appropriate given his name — but a prominent Villanova University professor is quoted at the beginning of 2019 as saying the Roman Catholic Church is facing its greatest crisis in 500 years.
For decades, a seeming legitimate requirement asked for admission to Detroit gay bars was three pieces of ID, including one with photo selfie (in or out of drag optional). The request was intended to keep [...]
The year I graduated as a commercial art major from Detroit’s prestigious Cass Technical High School I did not attend my senior prom.
As a teenager in the mid-1950s, I listened faithfully to country and western music radio — especially Patsy Cline — and later ‘Senator’ Bristo Bryant’s rhythm and blues after high school class broadcasts. (A favorite [...]
Back in the “good old days” of Great Depression No. 1, following Stock Market Crash ’29 years and years – well, at least a galloping few – before my time, the arts with a capital "A" took a real financial broadsiding.