Dorien Grey: a Life in Photos

Hiatus

2008-03-05T04:44:00.000-08:00

And life goes on. I thank you for being with me on this photo journey through my life, and though the journey will, I pray, continue for quite some time, and while there are still many, many more photos of people in my life, I think it is time to take a break. Not sure whether I'll resume on a regular basis, or just do sporadic new entries, but again I think you for being with me.

And while this blog has emphasized my exterior, I hope you will now consider exploring how my mind works through my other blogs (http://www.doriengreyandme.blogspot.com), "A World Ago" (http//www.doriengrey.blogspot.com) and my books.

And remember, too, that you can always contact me at doriengrey@gmail.com. I'd love to hear from you.

Later, my friend.

Roots 16

2008-03-04T07:02:00.001-08:00

One of the saddest things about our society is how soon and how easily we forget those people without whom we would not exist. This early 1930s photo of dad's maternal grandparents, the Adams (I am ashamed not to remember their first names!). Both died when I was very young, but I remember that Dad adored Grandma Adams, and that she always kept cookies...ginger snaps, if memory serves, which it often doesn't...in a round tin. I remember almost nothing about Grandma Adams except that he was a crusty old soul who smoked a pipe and didn't say much. As I mentioned in an earlier entry, my dad'd middle name, Guerdon, was the name of the captain of the boat on which Grandma Adams came over from Ireland. Why do I not know more? Why do you not know more of your forebearers?

Roots: My Family 1

2008-03-03T04:54:00.000-08:00

And as this photoblog comes to a close (there are many more photos, but they are largely strolls from the main path). So I thought I'd put up this picture of Dad's side of my family, taken somewhere in the 1950s: Dad's mom is front row, left, his half-sister Marjorie (Bonne) beside her. On the couch from left are Pete Bonne, Marge's husband, their daughter Shirley, Al Ameeley, Grandma's husband, holding Sandy Bonne, then Dad and Mom. I'm on the floor, right. Since Aunt Marge's death two years ago, I have totally lost track of Sandy and Shriley, the only remaiing members of Dad's side. Life is strange.

Roots 15

2008-03-02T04:48:00.000-08:00

A "typically average" young woman stands on the "typically average" porch of a "typically average" American home in the early 1920s. And in some ways, my mother was a typically average woman of her time. But "average" is a surface word, hiding the fact that every human being is unique in the universe. No one had her smile, or her laugh, or all those millions of little things which separated her from everyone else. And no one could possibly have been a better mother.

Roots 14

2008-03-01T05:12:00.001-08:00

Dad loved sports, and poses here, somewhere around 1940, in his baseball uniform, probably from an amateur team organized by his work. I always felt I was a great disappointment to Dad because I did not share his sports interests or abilities, and only recently have come to realize that even if he was disappointed, it in no wasy affected (as I feared at the time) his love for me.

Roots 13

2008-02-29T04:56:00.000-08:00

Photos often raise more questions than they answer. This early-1930's photo is obviously of my dad, left, and my grandfather Gus, right. But who is the man in the middle? When, exactly, was it taken? Where? And why are dad and grandpa Margason looking so dapper...even to the point of Dad sporting a cane? Time steals facts so quickly. And it is our fault for not marking each and every photo we take with some sort of identification for future years.

Roots 12

2008-02-28T04:43:00.000-08:00

The concept of "now" is difficult to really grasp. But look closely at this photo. It's not just of my dad working at a gas station in 1929 Rockford, Illinois (I'm sorry I do not know the name of his friend), it is a tiny piece of now captured forever. It may not be the now through which we are traveling at this instant, but it is, for dad and the world captured in this photo, just as real as ours.

Roots 11

2008-02-27T04:55:00.000-08:00

I'd posted this 1916 photo of my beloved Aunt Thyra in her confirmation dress some time ago on my Dorien Grey and Me blog, but it is such a lovely photo, and since we're now focusing on important people in my life, I couldn't resist. I hope you don't mind.

Roots 10

2008-02-26T05:27:00.000-08:00

And then, sometime around 1929, Franklyn Guerdon Margason met Odrae Lucille Fearn, leading inevitably, four years later, to the birth of Franklyn Roger Margason, who would be the last of one branch of the Margason tree. (There are Margasons out there, just none who are related to me.) And time, as they say, marches on.

Roots 9

2008-02-25T04:50:00.000-08:00

I ran this photo of my dad, circa 1925, some time ago on my "Dorien Grey and Me" blog, but since I have so few photos of dad's early years, felt it appropriate to run it again. His expression is guarded, as though he were not quite sure what to expect next. I seem to have inherited that trait from him.

Roots 8

2008-02-24T04:53:00.000-08:00

Franklin Guerdon (named for the captain of the ship on which my great-grandmother Adams came over from Ireland) Margason was born October 11, 1912, and was therefore about six years old when this photo was taken posing proudly with his mother, holding a stick rifle. But while he loved playing soldier as a boy, when WWII came along, he was married and had a child and workig in a defense plant,which deferred him from the draft. Therefore, like an entire generation of young boys playing solier, he never had to become one.

Roots 7

2008-02-23T05:10:00.001-08:00

Mother was born into a far different world (here probably around 1916)than she left. It was a comfortable world of comfortable homes and ornate furniture, where little girls---before such conveniences as washing machines---wore crisp white dresses with bows in their hair. But it was also a world in which disease swept unchecked across the world, as the influena pandemic would prove two years later when it claimed my grandmother Fearn, mother's mom.

Roots 6

2008-02-22T04:51:00.000-08:00

A three year old Odrae Lucille Fearn looks calmly into the lens of time. The year is 1912, and people are still talking of the recent sinking of the Titanic. Fifty-eight more years of life lie ahead of her: a long time looking forward, not the flicker of an angel's eyelash looking back.

Roots 5

2008-02-21T04:45:00.000-08:00

In the 42 years they had with one another, Uncle Buck (Charles, born 1900) and Odrae (born 1911 and named Odrae because her Norwegian-born mother assumed that was the way to spell "Audrey")were textbook syblings. Uncle Buck's job was to protect his little sister, and mother worshipped her big brother. Both were heavy smokers and both subsequently died (Uncle Buck in 1953, Mother in 1971) of cancer. Their families take great comfort in the assurances of the tobacco industry that there is no link between smoking and cancer. Well, their saying so is certainly all the proof I need.

Roots 4

2008-02-20T05:24:00.000-08:00

Charles Fearn entered the world in the first year of the 20th century: a world without radio, without television, without computers, without airplanes . His sister, Odrae, came along nine years later. He went on to have three children of his own, and to become "Uncle Buck" to Odrae's son...me. If love were our standard of wealth, he would have been a very wealthy man.

Roots: American Dreams

2008-02-19T04:48:00.000-08:00

This house, built somewhere around the turn of the 20th century, was the Fearn family home until my mom sold it to move to be with me in California in 1969. It was built by my grandfather, housed him, my grandmother, their son and daughter. It witnessed history, and laughter, and tears. It was the quintessential American working middle class home on School Street (even the name is Americana), an elm-tree lined street of similar homes in Rockford, Illinois, then known as "The Forest City".

Today it is a treeless ghetto of slum properties where it is unsafe to drive down the street. The Fearns are gone from School Street. So, for many, is the American Dream.

Roots 3

2008-02-18T04:58:00.000-08:00

That I do not know when or how Annabelle Erickson met Chester Fearn (the photo above was probably taken around 1905) only goes to underssore how little we know of our past and how quickly entire generations without whom we would not exist are lost to time.

To quote a memorable epitaph: "As you are now, so once were we. As we are now, so shall you be."

Roots 2

2008-02-17T04:50:00.000-08:00

My maternal grandfather, Chester Fearn, circa 1905 (?). I wrote a blog on him (and one on grandma Fearn) quite a while back. Born in Pena, Illinois around 1872, a runaway at 12, he worked most of his life in foundries in Rockford, IL. His great loves were dancing and an occasional pinch of "snuss"...a finely ground tobacco snorted through the nose.

Roots

2008-02-16T05:16:00.001-08:00

The purpose of this photoblog has been to lay out one writer's life in photos, and after several months, they have been pretty much exhausted. But no man, as they say, is an island, and I'd like to introduce you to some of the people without whose lives I could not be the person you've been seeing in all these photos.

This first photo is of my maternal grandmother, Annabelle Fearn (nee Erickson, born in Norway), taken around 1900.

Then and Now

2008-02-15T04:16:00.001-08:00

College then, college now. (photo by AP Photo/Charles Rex Arbogast)

Flashback on L.A.

2008-02-14T04:47:00.000-08:00

Two of life's many perversities are: 1) We seem incapable of appreciating what we have when we have it,, and 2) Things often seem rosier in retrospect than they did at the time. This shot, taken with Ramon on December 31, 1977, during my days as editor of In Touch for Men magazine, demonstrates both principles.

Friends and Time

2008-02-13T05:48:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure how many people are (or will be, if they live long enought) blessed with having the same friends for 50 years, as I have in Tom (right) and Franklin (center) in this photo taken during their visit to me in Northern Wisconsin around 2000. One of the best tests of friendship is the ability, as with Tom and Franklin, to be physically separated for long periods of time with little actual contact, and then to be able to pick up a conversation in mid-sentence when you once again meet.

Time and the Family

2008-02-12T04:47:00.000-08:00

The last family photo ever taken with my cousins Cork, Veda (Jack's wife) me, Nornie (Cork's wife), Jack, Shirley (Fat's wife), and Fat, probably 1992. Now there is just Jack, Veda, and I. Have I mentioned that life is not always fair?

And then there was one

2008-02-11T04:54:00.001-08:00

After Mom died in 1971, a visit "home" in 1974 gave me this photo or Aunt Thyra, my cousin Fat and his wife Shirley. Now I am the only one left. In addition to Aunt Thyra, Fat, and Shirley, I've also lost my cousin Cork and his wife Nornie, leaving only one first cousin, Jack and his wife Veda as the only survivors of an entire generation. I can realize that this is the way life is, but I certainly don't have to like it, and I don't.

Once Upon a Lake

2008-02-10T05:41:00.000-08:00

1960. Not that long ago, really. No,really. Just a dream or two away, and I was at my folks' cottage on Lake Koshkonong. That so much that was then is not now is a concept I find it impossible to accept. To me, it was, therefore it is.

Overlooks, 1

2008-02-09T04:53:00.000-08:00

Well, with yesterday's entry, We've arrived pretty close to the present time in our little chronocologic tour of my life. So now I'm going back to put in any I overlooked which might possibly be of interet to you. Here's one from a 1990 trip to California to visit my good friends Mollie and Barb. Mollie took this one of Barb and me at the San Diego zoo.

Moving on

2008-02-08T05:33:00.000-08:00

And so life goes on, and I---so much older but I'm not sure how much wiser---am happily once more living in Chicago. I have a number of good friends like Gary Brown, with me above, who make the journey much easier, I am doing what I love to do (writing), and I am content. What more can anyone ask?

Tic Toc Tic Toc

2008-02-07T06:13:00.000-08:00

And so time passes. And after 50 years, I am blessed with the same friends. Tom (left) and his partner, Mike, recently visited from their home in Florida, and we went to the Museum of Science & Industry to see the WWII U-505 submarine exhibit. Tom and the U-505 look pretty much the same, but alas I am clearly showing the chips, dings, and faded paint brought on by passage of the years. That it is inevitable does not make it any more acceptable.

Into the Future

2008-02-06T04:53:00.000-08:00

I arrived in Chicago in 1958 as Roger. I've returned as Roger/Dorien, and my world is centered on my writing, and places like Unabridged Books, which has been very kind to me. Ed, the owner, Kyle, bravely posing with me, and the entire staff are without exception top drawer people.

Circles

2008-02-05T05:40:00.000-08:00

And so, after a 40 year absence, I find myself drawn back to Chicago. I made the decision to return during a visit to Norm in October of 2004, where I had a chance to meet with a couple fans of my books who subsequently becme real friends: Bil Buralli and Cork McGraw. And life moves on.

The Portrait Ages

2008-02-04T05:25:00.000-08:00

This is one of the first photos taken after my release from Mayo following my successful battle with cancer. The split between my inner and outer selves, as with Dorian Gray and his portrait in in Oscar Wilde's classic novel, has begun. Sheba leant strong moral support during my recovery, reassuring me that everything would be all right. And it was (and continues to be) so long as I can avoid reflective surfaces.

The Good Life

2008-02-03T05:13:00.000-08:00

I know I spend a great deal of time bewailing the passage of time and the price, like the small print in a legal document, it extracts. But as here in my little house in Pence, Wisconsin, in April of 2000, I can see that life, overall, has been very good to me. And if you think about it, you can probably say the same.

I mentioned Munchkins

2008-02-02T05:26:00.000-08:00

Hope you don't mind a couple of no-people-in-them photos, but I wanted you to see that I wasn't kidding when I said my little house in Pence was designed for Munchkins. (The first photo was from the kitchen into the living room, the second the living room.) It was really small, but perfect for me, and I loved it.

Cozy is as Cozy Does

2008-01-31T05:51:00.000-08:00

After giving up on the B&B around 1994, I decided one person in a nine-room house was rather impractical, and started looking for something that better fit my needs. And sure enough, less than four blocks from the B&B I found this Munchkin-sized house that was perfect for me. It came with a double lot. The total pirce? $10,000. I took it and lived here until I left the Great North Woods for Chicago.

An Early Snow

2008-01-30T04:48:00.000-08:00

Winter can come early in the Great North Woods, as it did in 2000. The full winter, sometimes bringing 350 inches of snow, lay ahead...as did many changes for the world and for me.

In the Blink of an Eye

2008-01-29T04:43:00.001-08:00

A photograph is an instant of time caught on film. Here are two instants, separated by a mere 60 years, offered as proof of just how fleeting time can be, and how much it can take from us in the blink of an eye. One second, it is 1936 I am hamming it up with my cousins "Fat" and Jack in the back yard of my aunt and uncle's house in Rockford, Illinois, and the next, Jack and I stand in the kitchen of my bed and breakfast in Pence, Wisconsin on October 13, 1995. Too fast! Too Fast!

Sammy

2008-01-28T04:54:00.000-08:00

Sammy came to me in the 1970s in Los Angeles,a stray as most of my dogs have been, and she was still with me (here with, friend Karl,an unnamed kitten and an unnamed B&B guest,in 1992). She died that same year, while I was on a trip to Los Angeles. I still miss her.

Before Linus

2008-01-27T04:54:00.000-08:00

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Going through my photos...I'm beginning to run low...I came across this one, taken probably around 1938 or '39. What I'm doing here, I haven't a clue...which sort of sets the tone for the rest of my life. I'm sure it wasn't a security blanket. I never had one, nor did I have invisible friends. Those came later.

Blond Moment

2008-01-26T05:29:00.000-08:00

I've more or less given up on trying to keep these photos in chronological order, so here's a photo that clearly asks the question: "What the Devil was I thinking?" Shortly after moving to L.A. in 1966 I decided I wanted to be a blond and tried it for about three months, just long enough to get it out of my system. If it's true that blonds have more fun, I didn't notice.

Metaphors

2008-01-25T05:32:00.000-08:00

I've often used the metaphor of life being like a roller coaster ride. But unlike fiding a roller coaster, once the trip is over, you can't get back on again. Perhaps I was thinking of that when this photo was taken at 6 Flags Wisconsin around 1992. I'm certainly looking a bit pensive.

Sneaking Up

2008-01-24T05:57:00.000-08:00

There are few areas that can beat the Great North Woods for beauty. Little Girl's Point (apparently named for an indian maiden who stood on the bluffs behind me looking out over Lake Superior for her love to return) was one of my favorite spots. However, while the forests are eternal, time sneaks up on people, as I am beginning, here (in theearly 90's), to recognize. Puttin' on a little weight there, too.

The Days of When

2008-01-23T05:39:00.000-08:00

For those were the Days of When, when we were all young and all close friends and assumed it would always be so, as we were in this day at my parents' cottage around 1960. And except for Del Barker (L.) with whom I've lost touch, the rest of us...Norm, me, Franklin, and Tom, though unable to hold on to our youth, have remained friends for more than 40 years.

Whither Time?

2008-01-22T06:17:00.000-08:00

See this picture? Me with Effie Foulis and Ken Swanson on graduation day? It was taken last week. Or maybe it was the week before. Really, it was! I remember it like it was yesterday. June, 1958? Don't be ridiculous! Let me go check the mirror.

...................never mind.

My "Second Mom"

2008-01-21T05:53:00.000-08:00

The photo from the early 70s may be blurry, but my memories of Aunt Thyra are not. Most people are blessed to have one mother who loved them. I stiill think of Aunt Thyra as my second mother, because she always treated me like one of her own. She died in 1976, tearing yet another piece out of my heart.

Uncle Bob Redux

2008-01-20T05:43:00.000-08:00

I don't think I've put this one up before, but I was thinking of my dear friend, Uncle Bob, who died last year on his 90th birthday. Here we are in my halcyon (in retrospect) L.A. days, in front of the Hollywood hills house we shared for a time (1966-1967). There have been many houses in my life, but only one Uncle Bob.

North Woods Life

2008-01-19T05:37:00.000-08:00

Life in the Great North Woods isn't easy for gays and lesbians--what few there are are generally not only locked tightly in their closet but have bricked up the door from the inside. But Ray established a network of straight friends through AA, and we had a few parties at the B&B. I'm here at one of them with Val, one of Ray's best friends.

Where the Heart Lies

2008-01-18T06:45:00.001-08:00

I don't know exactly why, when I go through the photos of my life, I keep being drawn to certain times and certain people and above all, certain themes. The single major theme of my life, I am sure, is love and the people with whom I shared it. Thus the above, of Ray and I taken in 1985. And 23 years later, I still get the same feelings when I look at it.

College Days Redux...that old gang of mine

2008-01-17T06:54:00.000-08:00

Have I ever mentioned I rather enjoyed college? There is nothing else quite like it and the experiences it offers, the friendships it creates, the warmth and comfort of belonging, of being a part of something outside one's self. And while sad to say I can't recall the names of everyone in this photo (I'm top center, naturally), the fact that we shared some part of our lives for a brief period will remain with me forever.

Timeskipping Again

2008-01-16T05:40:00.000-08:00

Thinking of my Grandpa Margason and his wife Ann, and foud this college graduation photo. Grandpa and Ann...his second wife...were married just before I was born, but I never called her "Grandma"...she wouldn't have it. Two people in a photograph, and you have no idea of who they are. Yet they had lived a lifetime, and volumes of thoughts and memories lie are associated with them. Every human being has a story. There simply is not time to tell them all. Pity.

A Man of Many Hats

2008-01-15T05:57:00.000-08:00

Unable to count on steady income from the bed & breakfast, I took a job as manager of the local natural food store around 1989 (interior shot, me; exterior shot with co-op board member Karl Overholt). While I loved the job, co-ops boards of directors are notorious for infighting among the members, and the manager is always the target in the battle for control. I didn't last three years.

The Rustic Life

2008-01-14T05:38:00.000-08:00

The Great North Woods is a beautiful place for anyone who loves the outdoors. Endless frests, rivers, waterfalls, lakes. I'd take my canoe down to the Gile Flowage, about 2 miles from my house and paddle out to one of the many small islands. Often, there would be no one else in sight, on land or water. But beauty only goes so far.

Once a Sailor....

2008-01-13T08:23:00.000-08:00

Another skip-back-in-time here to the 60's at my folks' cabin on Lake Koshkonong. Dad took this one of mom and me about to go for a spin. Once again, my mantra: "And then is now...."

Where Winter is Winter

2008-01-12T06:22:00.000-08:00

Having moved back to Chicago two years ago, I am bemused by the fact that five inches of snow is considered a major event. Here I am with Bozo (about whom I will one day write a blog) about three blocks out onto Lake Superior on a typical North Woods winter's day.

We

2008-01-11T06:42:00.000-08:00

There is no more beautiful word in the English language than "We"...especially when referring to one's self and a romantic partner. Ray was the last person with whom I could truly use the word. I miss it more than I can possibly say.

2008-01-10T05:53:00.000-08:00

There's no denying the beauty of the Great North Woods. Lake of the Clouds, in Michigan's U.P., was about 50 miles from Pence. 700 feet above...but less than half a mile from...Lake Superior, it overlooks 48,000 acres of virgin forest, and was one of my favorite spots to show guests. Here I am with one, circa 1987.

Days of Hope

2008-01-09T05:36:00.000-08:00

I'd moved to Pence alone: Ray's alcoholism having broken us up yet again. But, ever the optimist, I thougt perhaps that in a new place, away from the bars and lifestyle lures of L.A., we might be able to make it. So we reunited in 1984, my first summer in Pence. And so we were together again: me, Ray, and Sammy. I hoped it would be forever this time. I was, of course, wrong.

Lord of the Manor 2

2008-01-08T05:45:00.000-08:00

Renovating a big, old house was neither easy nor fun, but was probably worth it for the experience. Would I do it again? Uh, let me see...NO! (This is the dining room of the B&B, though mostly meals were served in the dining area off the kitchen.)

The Gourmet Chef

2008-01-07T05:59:00.000-08:00

One of the downisdes (and there are many) of having a Bed & Breakfast is the necessity to prepare breakfast for from 1 to 12 people---not easy for someone who can burn water. But I managed

A Martha Stewart Moment

2008-01-06T05:52:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving 1985 at the now-year-old Bed and Breakfast with guests who had become friends. The picture was taken looking from the guest dining area through the kitchen pass-through. And no, I did not prepare the turkey all lby myself.

Time on Film

2008-01-05T05:44:00.000-08:00

It is 1984, my first spring in Pence, Wisconsin. I am, here, 50 years old. Behind me is my just-purchased 100-year-old house, and beside me is my best friend Russ Hogan, here 51. We have, at this point, known one another 33 years. So much time caught up in one photo.

One Reason I Left L.A.....

2008-01-04T05:37:00.000-08:00

One of the reasons I left L.A. was to get as far away from riots and earthquakes and landslides and smog as I could get. I think my move to northern Wsiconsin achieved that goal.

Befores and Afters

2008-01-03T05:29:00.000-08:00

Had I looked before I leapt into buying an abandoned old house in Pence, Wisconsin with dreams of opening a bed and breakfast, and realized the work involved,I undoubtedly would not have done it. But I did, and the two shots above have me standing in the living room looking into the dining room, taken about six months apart. And I did it all with han absolute minimum of outside help. I'm proud of that.

A New World, A New Life

2008-01-02T06:23:00.000-08:00

After 18 years in Los Angeles, I made one of my sea-change moves, buying a 9-room abandoned house in Pence, Wisconsin, with the intention of opening a bed and breakfast. That the realtor laughingly referred to it as "the Pence Palace" should have given me a clue, but didn't. I arrived on January 21, 1984 to 3 feet of snow and -19 degree temps, and things sort of started going downhill from there.

Happy New Year!

2008-01-01T06:32:00.001-08:00

A new year, huh? Well, okay...I'll pick 1943.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot...."

2007-12-31T05:27:00.000-08:00

Do I dwell too much on the past? Probably. But it is where we all have spent our lives. In a large way, the past IS who we are. And I owe who I am to influences of the past. There are no stronger influences in my life than my parents, my home, and memories of times past. I use photos as time travel, and here I am again, in 1953, at home by the tree with mom and dad and Stormy. I like it there.

Time Skipping, Part II

2007-12-30T05:39:00.001-08:00

I've skipped so very many photos in my attempt to be somewhat chronological, that I'll start peppering them through coming entries. Here I am with Dee D'Isa in N.I.U.'s 1958 (my senior year) production of the Greek comedy, "The Menachmae." I'm sure you've seen it; it was a smash hit somewhere around the time of Christ.

May/September

2007-12-29T05:55:00.001-08:00

Straight men are not the only ones who, as the years begin to add up, seek reassurance that they're still young by being drawn to those who ARE the age they consider themselves to be. And in both gay life and straight, younger people are often attracted to those older than themselves for a sense of stability often missing in their own lives. I met Dev, a really sweet kid, in 1983, just as I was planning to leave L.A. to return to the midwest.

Home, Sweet Home

2007-12-28T04:58:00.001-08:00

I came across these photos of the living room of my Kurt St. house in Los Angeles, and thought I'd share them with you. I really miss it, at times. But then, as you may have noticed, I tend to miss a great many things.

One out of Three

2007-12-27T05:55:00.000-08:00

Not sure exactly when this was taken, though undoubtedly around 1979. Not sure where it was taken; I don't recognize the background though it was apparently on an overlook somewhere. But I do remember the Navy Surplus shirt I'm wearing. It was the shirt I had on the night I met Ray on July 2, 1978. Well, one out of three ain't bad.

Friends and Journeys

2007-12-26T05:26:00.000-08:00

The journey through life is made far more pleasant when one is accompanied by friends. Few, alas, remain for the entire trip. Here, around 1972, I was joined by Larry Couch (left), Russ Hogan, and Ray on a side trip to San Fransisco. Sadly, all are now gone: first Ray, then Russ, then Larry. I don't like traveling alone.

Ghosts of Christmases Past

2007-12-25T06:59:00.000-08:00

This accidentally double-exposed photo from 1956 says a lot. Dad, mom, Stormy, home....Forever gone. Forever here.

Here's to you, Kid

2007-12-24T05:21:00.000-08:00

For Christmas, 1961, I gave my parents a trip to Hawaii...Mom's lifelong dream. Here they are on Oahu, with Dad holding a carved statue he bought Mom.

There can be no Christmas presents this year, but it's nice to remember when there were. So, here's to you both, kid. And Merry Christmas!

Dark Times and Remembrance

2007-12-23T04:50:00.000-08:00

During the holidays, it's hman nature to look back on lost friends, and since the most recent photos in this blog have been of my L.A. days, it's only natural to think of my Kurt St. neighbors and good friends, Bill (right) and Larry. Bill was one of those swept away in the early days of AIDS, and his picture was featured in a special 1987 edition of Newsweek. It would have pleased him to be in a national magazine.

I have many fond memories of our friendship and think it fitting that I remember it now.

Lord of the Manor

2007-12-22T05:23:00.001-08:00

I bought my Kurt St. house in L.A. in 1973, and was very proud of it. It backed up to the Angelus National Forest (top third of the photo), which was great except for the occasional rattlesnake and wildfires which threatened to (and one truly frightening time did) come sweeping over the top of the ridge toward the house.

Icons

2007-12-21T05:49:00.001-08:00

One of my favorite movies of all time is Judy Garland's "Harvey Girls", which featured the song "The Atchison, Topeka, and the Santa Fe." One of the soloists in the song was another of my favorite actresses, Virginia O'Brien. She was never a major star, but a solid staple of many musicals. Her trademark was singing with absolutely no facial expression whatever, and I loved her. When a friend told me he knew her, I begged him for an introduction, and he arranged for us to go to her home for coffee. She was charming and friendly, and I was awed. Thank you, Virginia: I'll never forget you!

A Man of Taste

2007-12-20T05:28:00.000-08:00

Always a man of exquisite taste and breeding, I moved easily among the beautiful people, frequently attending elegant soirees. Here friend Howard Moss interrupts my conversation with a friend. Halloween, around 1979,

Our Day in the Sun

2007-12-19T05:08:00.000-08:00

In 1976, when you could still be arbitrarily fired from your job or be thrown out of your apartment or arrested for frequenting the wrong bar simply for being gay, Los Angeles, San Francisto, and New York were already in the vanguard of showing tens of millions of Americans that we had rights, too. I loved attending the Gay Pride parade each year. Not sure if this one was in L.A. or San Francisco...I tried to make them both.

The Old West

2007-12-18T06:36:00.000-08:00

The pose on this one of me and Ray around 1980 reminds me of one of those old civil war/wild west tintypes. I read into it now two of my basic Scorpio characteristics: protection and possessiveness, the former far more admirable than the latter.

Child's Play

2007-12-17T05:26:00.000-08:00

Tujunga Canyon, near my Kurt St. house, was one of my special places in L.A.. You could hike for hours without seeing another person. There was a stream to wade in, with small waterfalls to strip down and sit under, and rock outcroppings to climb---in short, ample opportunity to pretend I was a kid again. The fact that Ramon also still had a lot of the wonder of a child made it all the more fun.

"...if the fates allow"

2007-12-16T05:52:00.000-08:00

The line I like best from the song "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" is "Someday soon we all will be together, if the fates allow..." And I look at this photo, taken around 1962 at my parents home with my best friend Russ Hogan, longtime family friend Marg Scott, me, and my folks, and think of that line. Unfortunately, the fates will not allow.

Tour Guide

2007-12-15T04:46:00.000-08:00

People who live in large cities, particularly like Los Angeles, frequently act as tour guides for visiting relatives, and I always enjoyed it because it took me to places I would not ordinarily go very often. Shirley Fearn visited several times with her sister, Lois Rector...who took this shot at the Hollywood Bowl probably around 1974, with her husband Ken. All are gone now. It's not fair. I'd love to have them visit me in Chicago. We'd have a great time.

The Once and Always Me

2007-12-14T04:55:00.001-08:00

Just like the character in "The Madwoman of Chaillot" who read the same issue of a newpaper over and over every day because she liked the news in it, so this photo is me, to me. I hate and have always hated photos of myself (oddly enough, for someone with a photo blog), but this one, taken about 1968 in Los Angeles by top L.A. photographer Glen Embree (as a favor to my boss) is who I am, and who I will always be.

Home Life

2007-12-13T06:08:00.000-08:00

I think I mentioned how much I loved my first home, in North Holywood. Here's a domestic little tableau taken in 1970, featuring Mom (left), my cousin Fat's wife, Shirley Fearn (with cigarette right), my dogs Boy and Cindy, and me in the corner, apparently not paying attention. It appears the photo has been damaged, per the lower right hand corner.

And "Now"Turns to "Then"

2007-12-12T05:50:00.000-08:00

When this photo was taken at a get-together at my Kurt St. house, probably around 1979, these people were all part of my life...some more peripherally than others. And now, because I did not write their names on the back of the photo ("Hey, why bother? I know who they are!" Uh huh.) As a result, I regret to say that the only name I can remember of all the above is my good friend Lee Brown, second from left, with whom I have also lost contact. And from this fact comes a cautionary tale: do not take those people you know, or your friendships, for granted. They will not always be there.

Same Party, Different Guy

2007-12-11T06:02:00.000-08:00

In one of my Dick Hardesty mysteries, I have Dick Hardesty refer to his "slut phase". While I wasn't quite that bad, I have to admit to frequently failing my application for sainthood. I have always had a weakness for Latinos, and when Ramon came along during one of my break-ups with Ray while I was working at In Touch for Men magazine, well... (Come on...spare me the raised eyebrow! You'd have done the same.)

The Good Life, 2

2007-12-10T04:49:00.000-08:00

L.A.is noted for its party life, and I did my share. Here I am with friend Don Stohl at a get-together at my Kurt St. house, probably around 1978. Odd how friends come and go. I totally lost track of Don. Pity.

And ThenThere Was Ray

2007-12-09T05:42:00.000-08:00

Hard to imagine I didn't meet Ray until I'd lived in Los Angeles for twelve years! We met, if memory serves...which it often doesn't...on July 2, 1978, at the Silver Dollar Bar. We were together sporadically (his alcoholism caused frequent breakups) until 1986. He died from AIDS in...1990? I often wonder why, with all our problems, I consider him the love of my life. But I do.

The Last Photos

2007-12-08T06:34:00.000-08:00

I had no way of knowing it, but mom and dad's visit to Califonia for Christmas of 1966 gave me the chance to take the last photos I'd ever have of the two of them together. Dad died of a heart attack in 1968 at the age of 57; mom three years later of lung cancer. And I look at this photo, and wish I'd told them more often just how much I loved them.

The Good Life

2007-12-07T05:58:00.000-08:00

Why are humans seemingly incapable of fully appreciating what they have while they have it? Again out of chronological order, this is me standing by my "wing" of the Tareco Drive house I shared with Uncle Bob (Bob Combs)in 1967 before I bought the Troost house in North Hollwyood. Set high above the Hollywood Freeway, the Cahuenga Pass and the slightly-smogged city spread out below. A good life, indeed.

First Home, L.A. Style

2007-12-06T06:12:00.000-08:00

I really loved my first home in L.A., on Troost St. in North Hollywood. I felt very...uh..."L.A.". It had a pool (how California can you get?)and it was comfortable and spacious and...well, I loved it, as shows in this back-yard photo. (The sliding glass doors led to my bedroom).

Early L.A.: Terry

2007-12-05T05:58:00.000-08:00

I met Terry not too long after I moved to L.A.in 1966. One night, at a crowded party, he asked me to dance. (I do not dance.) Needless to say, that's all it took. We remained friends until I moved from L.A. I heard Terry moved to San Francisco, and we lost track of one another. I've tried to find him, but to no avail.

The photo above was taken at Venice Beach in 1966. As you can see, I have always been an expert at concaling how I feel about things...and people.

Early California

2007-12-04T06:48:00.001-08:00

I arrived in California in 1966, and not too long thereafter was dating a guy whose best friend, Bob Combs, was from Chicago. We met and Bob and I became friends. When Skip, our mutual friend, moved to Texas, the opportunity arose to rent a large house in the Hollywood Hills, and we took it. We each had a separate wing of the house and shared the common areas. Bob, about whom I've written in my Dorien Grey and Me blog, remained my dear friend until his death, at 90, earlier this year.

And the Years Rush By.....

2007-12-03T06:52:00.001-08:00

The rosy-cheeked innoence of babies and youth are all too soon trampled by the onrushing years. The photo above was taken at my second L.A. home around 1983. I am no longer who I was, but not yet who I will become.

First House

2007-12-02T05:40:00.001-08:00

Doing a bit more time-skipping here, but I bought my first house, at 6445 Troost Ave., North Hollywood, CA, in 1968. At that time, a single man could not buy a house without a co-signer...my parents did the honors, bless them. Here I am with my mom and cousin Shirley Fearn, in 1968. I think I'll write a blog about it (http://www.doriengreyandme.blogspot.com) one day soon.

The Working World

2007-12-01T05:49:00.000-08:00

I tried, but I don't think I was ever cut out for the working world. As with team sports, I never did quite catch on to what it was all about, what the rules were, or why I was playing, other than to pay the rent and eat. Anyway, here's an example of the old (post) college try, from my days at Duraclean, International (circa 1960-1966).

The Aloha Kid

2007-11-30T05:22:00.000-08:00

The chronology of the photos will be wandering from now on, since it is so difficult to pin down exact dates. This one, though, was taken on a tip to Hawaii with my parents in 1962. I look happy. I was.

Friends and Family

2007-11-29T05:37:00.000-08:00

The years blur, so I'm not sure exactly when this was taken...before or after I left for the Navy. But here is Russ Hogan, my best friend from college, long-time family friend Marg Scott, with my folks and I at our 1720 School Street house in Rockford (the house in which my mom was born, btw). How can I be the only person in the picture still alive?

Two Grads

2007-11-28T05:23:00.001-08:00

My two graduations...high school and college...were six years apart, but only the flick of an eye when looking back. Sorry the college photo with Aunt Thyra was damaged. I treasure every photo I have of her.

Mother and Child Redux

2007-11-27T05:17:00.000-08:00

From the moment I joined the Navy, I was away from home more than I was there. I lived at home during college breaks,and tried to get home weekends whenever I could, as in this 1957 photo with my mom on Hutchins Ave. Dad, as usual, was behind the camera.

Time, time, time.....

2007-11-26T05:18:00.000-08:00

The feeling of love, and of being part of a family, is truly priceless, and this photo, taken in 1951 or 1952 with my ousin Jack, his wufe Veda, and my beloved Aunt Thyra and Uncle Buck show it clearly. Uncle Buck died in 1953, Aunt Thyra in 1975 or 1978, but Jack and Veda are still major anchors to the past. Veda has never forgotten my birthday in nearly 60 years. That alone, to me, defines the word "family."