The Point of Stevens Point

Stevens Point, Wisconsin, population 26,000, is in central Wisconsin, nowhere near Lake Michigan. The Wisconsin River runs through it, but I can't find a "point" anywhere.

Oh, there it is.  SPASH, Stevens Point Area High School, full of swimmers of prodigious ability.

So many that I had to split up the photos.

















Plus wrestlers, bodybuilders, and miscellaneous athletes.













Famous former residents include Joel Hodgson (Mystery Science Theater 3000), Kathy Kinney (The Drew Carey Show), and professional wrestler Ben Provisor.

I like the biceps and bulge, but not the tats and tongue.

Stevens Point is also the home of a branch of the University of Wisconsin, which has its own coterie of swimmers of prodigious capacity.













And wrestlers, bodybuilders, bikers, and bodybuilding wrestlers who compete in bikeathons.















This is a junior high boy, and probably not an athlete, but I couldn't resist the photo.  Pink button-down shirt, striped tie, pink carrying case at his feet. I'm guessing that he'll spend his teen years looking for the point of Stevens Point.

Gary Gygax and the Homophobic World of Dungeons and Dragons

When I was in college, Dungeons and Dragons was The Big Thing.  Everybody who was anybody -- and by that I mean the guys who hung out at Adam's Bookstore -- played. 

Actually, I never got into it, but I always felt that I should.  On the surface, it seems appealing -- creating a Medieval character and going on a quest, with dragons, orcs, elves, mages, runes, magic swords, barrow wights, you name it.  But the actual play felt mechanical and soulless.  "You raise your sword. Throw the dice to see if you slay the goblin.  You have lost 3 strength points but added five points to your stamina.  Roll the dice again."

I've never got into board games, either.  They call them "bored" games for a reason.

But it still brings back memories of that halcyon time, when Tolkien,  Renaissance Faires, the Society for Creative Anachronism, Isaac Asimov, Old Norse Sagas, Celtic folklore, comic books, and Dungeons and Dragons evoked a bright, glittering alternative to the dull world of jobs and marriages that we were destined for.  So, out of nostalgia, I bought Empire of Imagination: Gary Gygax and the Birth of Dungeons and Dragons.














Also the cover illustration was sort of cool, and author Michael Witwer is cute.

The first half of the book was very interesting, and very well written.  We hear about Gary Gygax (1938-2008) growing up in Chicago and then the far suburb of Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, exploring an abandoned asylum, having paranormal experiences, buddy-bonding with his best friend Dan, getting involved with the fledgling military role-playing game community of the 1960s.

Finding a bright, glittering alternative to the dull world of jobs and marriages that they were destined for.

Then suddenly destiny hits.  Gary gets married and has a lot of kids, gets a job, earns extra money by writing and editing gaming magazines.

For awhile the gaming world and the mundane world co-exist.  Gary plays his war games most nights with groups of boys and young men.  Sometimes, when it gets too late, he spends the night.  His wife is certain that he's having an affair, and storms into the house, only to be relieved to find him surrounded by teenage boys.

Yest she never suspects that he might be gay?

Then Gary invents Dungeons and Dragons, with no fanfare and no detail. 

The rest of the book is dull, dull, dull!  Gary sells a share of the business for a 10% royalty, corresponds with gaming publishers, negotiates with p.r. firms, gets rich, buys a mansion, gets a regular seat at the Playboy Club, has affairs with lots and lots of young ladies -- to the consternation of his wife, who breaks up with him on the plane on the way to London.

The joy is gone, buried under an avalanche of ledge books and tax forms.

And I found out a lot about Gary Gygax. Though Witwer tries to sugarcoat it as much as possible, it becomes increasingly obvious that Gary Gygax was not a nice person.  Authoritarian, imperious, judgmental, a leering, sexist jerk, promoting old-fashioned gender stereotypes.  An "America: Love It or Leave It" warmonger.  And, I assume, homophobic.

At least the author is.  Gay people do not exist in his book except in one story.  The 1980s backlash against Dungeons and Dragons began when a 16-year old college freshman, James Dallas Egbert III, vanished from his college campus.

The media latched onto D&D as the culprit, no doubt causing him to commit suicide (actually, he just ran away).

But, Witwer tells us, the lad was already unstable long before he discovered D&D.  He was an outsider, a science geek, too intelligent for his own good, and "an emergent homosexual."

I don't know what an emergent homosexual is, but it can't be good.

I feel betrayed.  One of the icons of my childhood has been tarnished.  The bright glittery world had a homophobic underbelly.

See also Dungeons and Dragons; Six Naked College Boys

The Beefcake of Baraboo

Baraboo, Wisconsin was the winter home of the Ringling Brothers Circus.  With its circus museum and the Al. Ringling Mansion, it was once famous as  "Clown Capital U.S.A."

Maybe it still is.

Baraboo hit the internet and the newspapers earlier this week when a photo emerged of the boys at the high school prom giving a sieg-heil salute.

 It was the photographer's idea; he claims it was an "innocent joke" that was blown out of proportion by spiteful online "jerks."  The students claimed that they didn't know what it meant.

Yeah, right.  These is the same high school where students drove through town with Confederate flags to commemorate a deceased classmate.  They claimed that they didn't know what those meant, either.

And the school where a student yelled "White Power!" in the hallway, and received no rebuke.

According to the twitter storm, racist, anti-Semitic, and homophobic are rampant at the school, with no consequences.

I love posting beefcake photos of homophobes, since it makes them so upset to think that another guy might consider them hot.  Fortunately, the Baraboo Wrestling Team's Facebook page offers dozens of shirtless pics.  This is just a selection.

1. On a camping trip.

2. Two more wrestlers showing off their guns.  The one on the right looks nonwhite.

3  Looking suspicious.

4.  A wrestler showing off his guns.

5. Nice biceps

8. A wrestler practicing his...um...tennis?

9.  Not a great physique, but....

10. And some swimmers for a change of pace.

Maybe they're not all racist, anti-Semitic,or homophobic.  After all, Baraboo High has a Gay-Straight Alliance and...well, that's about all the diversity they have.

In Search of Track Team Beefcake

My post on "The Top 12 Track Team Bulges" on Tales of West Hollywood" reveals a lot more of this guy than I can show here, plus his hot friend.  I definitely want to know what college he's running for.

 My clues are WVC and orange/white uniforms.

There are three colleges with the initials WVC in the United States.

1. West Valley College in Saratoga, CA, which has a nice (and very large) water polo team.  But no track team.

2. Wenatchee Valley College in Wenatchee, Washington.  It's adjacent to Central Washington University and the Cascade Christian Academy. 

Wenatchee High School has a track team, but Wenatchee Valley College does not.













3. Wabash Valley College in Mt. Carmel, southern Illinois, near Carbondale.   Not to be confused with Wabash College in Indiana.  Wabash College has a track team, but Wabash Valley does not.

Maybe I should stick with Wabash College.  It's got some muscular wrestlers.

More after the break

The Boy Who Ran Away to Manitowoc

My father was adopted by the Davis family when he was five years old.  He remembered almost nothing about his biological mother, and even less about his grandparents, only that they lived in Howe, Indiana, and his grandfather was named Nils.

Like The Wonderful Adventure of Nils, the Swedish children's book that everybody in Rock Island had to read?  Was my biological great-grandfather Swedish?

I always felt left out with a generic American heritage, among the Belgians, Greeks, Swedes, Germans, Jews, and Estonians in my class.  Maybe I had a heritage after all!

 A few more, conflicting details from my father's older sisters, and from a elderly woman at Christmas dinner one year who said she was Aunt Nora's aunt.

1. My great-grandfather was Nilsson, not Nils.  He was only 16, a cadet at the Howe Military Academy, when he met my great-grandmother Ida.  She was 17 years old, living on the Potawatomi Reservation.   Her parents disapproved of the match, and told them to break it off.  But they refused, and on day in 1897 Ida left the reservation forever.

2. Or his name was Stephens, he was 27, and Ida was 23 years old, a "spinster."  When she became pregnant in 1897, he ran away, but sent her money from Manitoba.  Ida returned to the reservation to raise her daughter.

3. Or his name was Nels. When Ida became pregnant, her father thought that she had been dishonored, and paid some thugs to get revenge.  Nels was never seen again.  Maybe he left town.  Maybe he was murdered: every year on March 3rd, the day Nel disappeared, Ida took a bouquet of flowers out into the woods.



Whatever his name was, everyone agreed that he was as as beautiful as the day, with dark wavy hair like Valentino, a voice like Caruso, and the physique of a Charles Atlas.  Most of the girls in town were in love with him, and he was in love with most of them.

I didn't see much of a gay connection in this story, but the "forbidden romance" angle is always queer -- white-Indian relations were a criminal offense in some states in the 1890s.  And I was interested in the "beautiful as the day" Nilson/Stephen.

Besides, he was my biological great-grandfather.

But when I started researching family genealogy, I came to a dead end.

First, there is no Potawatomie reservation near Howe, Indiana (it turns out that my Indian "grandmother" was one of Aunt Nora's relatives by marriage.)

Second, I found great-grandmother Ida and her parents on census rolls and gedcoms, but no combination of Nils, Nilson, Nelson, Neal, or Stephen first and last names.

Which makes sense, I suppose.  If he was a student at the military academy, his home would have been somewhere else, maybe out of state.

And I couldn't search his final destination, the entire province of Manitoba.  Dead end.

A few days ago, I decided to try again, and keyed in various combinations of Nilson, Nelson, Stephenson, and so on into Google Books, along with Manitoba.



I found  someone named Nels Stephenson building an opera house in Manitiwoc, Wisconsin in 1899, two years after my great-grandfather left town or was murdered.  The right time period, and the names are close enough to match. His business partner was William Brandt.

Could that be a gay connection?

William Brandt doesn't appear in Manitiwoc census records, or in the newspaper before 1899.  Not a Wisconsin native.

But when I checked the records of Howe, Indiana, there he was!  William Brandt, born in Lagrange County, about ten miles away, in 1870.

 William Brandt and great-grandfather Nels left town together.  Nels may not even have known that Ida was pregnant.

Imagine what happened that night in 1897:

"They're coming for you, Nels."

"Why, Billy, what do you mean?"

"Ida's father found out about your romance, and he paid some thugs to kill you.  I have a carriage waiting-- we have to run away, tonight."

"We?"

"Well, of course.  You don't think I'd let you go out to the Wild West by yourself?  And miss out on all that fun?"

"But your job at the opera house?"

"There will be other opera houses.  Now get packed -- we have to go!"

A version of this story with nude photos is on Tales of West Hollywood.

Four Questions about Ashwaubenon

I found this photo while googling for small town beefcake. His wrestling singlet reads "Ashwaubenon Jaguars."

Two questions:
1. Where is Ashwaubenon?
2. How soon can I be there?

















Ok, a third question:

3. Where do I go to meet Ashwaubenon men?

Question 1:  It's a suburb of Green Bay, Wisconsin, straddled between Lambeau Field, where the Green Bay Packers play, and the airport.  The name comes from an Ojibwe word meaning "Lookout."  There's a high school, a mall, and a railroad museum.

Sounds great.

Question #2:  It's 500 miles from me.  Three hours by airplane, eight hours by car, 21 hours by bus.  These guys appear to be saying "Take the plane."










Question #3: There are several gay bars in Green Bay, but if you have a special interest in Ashwaubenon guys, probably the Mall or  Cooke Park.  Or you can always fall back on the old standby, Grindr.

This Grindr guy thinks that his abs are a bigger draw than his face.  He may be right.

The Performing Arts Center sponsors many musical groups (The Little River Band later this spring), and rhe high school has a spring play.  Plus a lot of swimming events.

What's with the kid? He looks about six years younger than the other swimmers, and rather embarrassed, as if he showed up for the wrong photo shoot.

One more question:

4. What's with the prison-stripe pants?  They look ridiculous -- better take them off.

Racine, Wisconsin: The Beefcake that Might Have Been

I spent kindergarten, first, and second grades in Racine, Wisconsin, on the shore of Lake Michigan between Milwaukee and Chicago.  If Dad hadn't been transferred to Rock Island, I could have grown up there.

My few memories of Racine: going to the beach every day, a zoo with a monkey island, Danish kringle, the J. I. Case Company with the logo of an eagle crushing the world.

Sounds like a Paradise.











I could have gone to  Washington Park High School instead of Rocky High.  I like the leggings with characters from Frozen.

Washington Park High School has swimming, wrestling, and track.

And the all-American wrestler of the year with a semi.

Milwaukee could have been the nearest big city.  I would probably have gone to Marquette University instead of Augustana College.  Marquette is known for its water polo team.

Racine has the largest Danish community outside of Denmark.  You know what they say about Danish men.

And a sizeable gay community, with bars, a LGBT Community Center, and an annual Pride celebration.  But if you want something more, Chicago is only 100 miles away.

Nude Wrestling in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin

Rock Island, July 2017

It's the morning after the most disgusting hookup ever.  Bob the 19-year old economics major and I are at having egg white omelets and fruit cups at the Quad Cities Pancake House.

"So, what's on the schedule for today?"  Bob asks.

"Chicago, about three hours from here.  We'll hit a couple of the museums, spend the night, and then drive on to Cleveland tomorrow."

"Would you mind if we take a little side-trip first?  I have a cousin I haven't seen since we were kids.  It's a couple of hours out of the way."

"Where?"

"Fond du Lac, Wisconsin."

4 hours out of the way!  But this is Bob's trip, too, so he should have a say in the itinerary.  Besides,  I have a history with Fond du Lac.


During my senior year in high school, although I was still Nazarene, I became obsessed with all things Catholic.  I read The Seven Story Mountain and The Dark Night of the Soul, learned to say the Rosary, and even went incognito into a Catholic Mass. I didn't actually convert, but I was considering it.

 And I considered applying to Marion College in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin.

One day in January 1978, Dad drove me up for a tour.  I remember a vast snow-covered campus with round white buildings, pristine, pure, as quiet as a cloister.

You could feel the presence of God everywhere.

I imagined living in an austere dorm room, all white, empty except for a bed with white covers, some statues of saints, and a shelf of contemplative classics: the Little Flowers of St. Francis,  The Cloud of Unknowing.  Of walking among buildings of brilliant white other-worldly splendor every day, en route to my classes in medieval philosophy, Catholic theology, Ecclesiastical Latin, and Koine Greek.

On the four hour drive to Fond du Lac, Bob tells me more about Cousin Tark (short for Tarkington).  He's older than Bob, a big brother who used to babysit him and sneak him into R-rated movies, until he went away to college in Wisconsin, and then got a job in Fond du Lac.

"Was he cute?" I ask.

Not an athlete, but big and tall, with a thick beefy chest and nice biceps.

"Any sausage sightings?"

"Man, we used to wrestle in the nude.   Really big -- and thick!  Man, that thing was like a beer can!"

 A beer-can penis somehow seems out of place in a world of quiet contemplation.  Surely trivial matters like sex fade away when you are in the presence of the Divine.

The full post, with nude photos and sexual situations, is on Tales of West Hollywood.