Hell-fer-Sartain: After a horrible year teaching at Homophobia U., I escape to Anywhere That's Not Texas

 

 

Link to the n*de photos

After getting my M.A. from  Indiana University, I spent a year (actually 210 dreadful days) in Hell-fer-Sartain, Texas, about 15 miles north of Houston -- which meant an hour's drive on thoses parking lots they called freeways -- teaching English at Homophobia State University.  Nine months of frustration, anger, embarrassment, loneliness, anger, frustration, and frustration. 

1. The entire population of the U.S. moved to Houston that summer, so no one knew how to do anything.  The bank gave me checks from one account and put my money in another.  I used to walk down the street and pick up my mail from all of the houses where the postman dumped it.

2. And the most minor task, even going out to eat, meant a 30-minute drive in bumper-to-bumper traffic, past a construction site (so flat tires were a constant hassle), and waiting in an endless line.

3. I lived in a two-room apartment with no heat ("this is the South -- we don't need heat") in the coldest winter Houston had seen since 1891, with a heavy-metal enthusiast living next door and Larry the Cable Guy below.

4. The students in English Composition were beyond illiterate; in Survey of American Literature, they complained to the department chair when I assigned poems by Emily Dickinson and Langston Hughes (only white men counted as canon); and in my side job teaching report writing at Houston Police Academy, they passed out a map of the neighborhoods where "homosexuals" congregated.  

5. God forbid I come out to anyone, so I was beset upon by male colleagues asking me to rate the attractiveness of female movie stars, and female colleagues trying to fix me up with their unmarried sisters and nieces.

Left: University of Houston Chapel.  Ask the Hunky Jesus for deliverance.

6. The Montrose neighborhood had clandestine gay bars and the Wilde and Stein Bookstore, but it was too frustrating to get to, with hour-long traffic jams and constant flat tires, so I depended on a personal ad in The Montrose Voice.  First I was looking for dates, but soon I settled for a hookup.  Even then, it was a mess: 

"Why do you want to know my name? Are you a cop?"

"There was a car in the driveway of a house three doors down, so I got scared and bailed."

"Meet me at the public restroom somewhere far away, and we'll do it there."

The nickname comes from South from Hell-fer-Sartan, a collection of Kentucky folk tales.

I applied for jobs and graduate programs furiously, and finally made it into USC!  I'd be moving to West Hollywood!  But first I had to go home to Rock Island for the summer.

I purposely didn't assign any final papers or final exams, so classes ended on Thursday, and I was ready to go on Friday.  I walked my final grades to the horrible dean's office, turned in my office key, walked through the sweltering Sahara of a parking lot, and started driving.

The quickest way to get back to Rock Island was to head north, but that would mean five more hours in Texas, so instead I drove south on the I-45 toward Houston for twelve miles.

Fortunately I turned onto the I-610 before it became a parking lot.

Ten more miles around the eastern edge of Houston in traffic that was just horrible, not a parking lot.  Mostly I was surrounded by roaring trucks and nondescript Brutoian warehouses

Then the I-10 east in more horrible traffic through horrible Houston suburbs: Jacinto City, Cloverleaf, Channel View. Greens Bayou, Marwood.

Left: Jacinto City wrestlers.

I hooked up  with a guy in Jacinto City once.  I felt like the town's first  mayor, a guy named Inch Handler.

The suburbs went on endlessly. Nothing to see but billboards, car dealerships, warehouses, and the occasional streetful of fast-food joints.

Past Burnett Bay, the traffic thinned out,  and the highway narrowed.  I was out of Houston's clutches, but still in Texas, driving through a swampy no man's land,without even a billboard.

Or a rest stop.  I didn't care. I wasn't stopping until Texas was a distant memory.

At the small redneck town of Winnie, home of the Texas Rice Festival, the I-10 veered northeast.

More after the break

Boots: A gay teen and his straight buddy join the Marines. In 1990. With other gay characters, all the beefcake you could hope for, and at least 3 d*cks

  

Link to the n*de photos

Boots on Netflix, not to be confused with Boots: The Musical or Das Boot , is advertised as the last series by Norman Lear, who produced some of the greatest hip sitcoms of the 1970s: All in the Family, The Jeffersons, One Day at a Time, Maude, Mary Hartman.  It's based on The Pink Marine by Greg Cope, his memoir of joining the Marines as a closeted gay kid in 1990.

My parents all but insisted that I join the army after high school, but I figured that it would be impossible.  Memories of the 1990s, plus gay characters and beefcake -- I'm in. Episode 1, "The Pink Marine":

Scene 1: 1990.  In the recruiting office, Cameron (Miles Heizer) is asked why he wants to be a Marine.  "Um...for freedom and America?"  The real reason: he's being bullied to death. 

Narrating, Cam goes back to the beginning.  Montage of his birth, toddler years, getting beat up, lifting weights, a d*ck, David Hasselhoff, Medieval knights.  "What if you're not who everybody says you're supposed to be?" 

Mom advises him to be more masculine. Brother Benjy, to not be such a p*ssy.  Getting his head shoved in a toilet at graduation.  Complaining about having to stay closeted.  Sounds like everybody knows you're gay, buddy.

His inner self interrupts and asks him to "stop being afraid, and just be yourself.  Our place is out there."  So you're joining the Marines? I moved to West Hollywood.

Scene 2:  Close up of the shoes of Cameron's only friend, Ray (Liam Oh),  as they eat at an outdoor restaurant. He's going to join the Marines, where they have the "buddy system": if you join with a friend, you stay together.  

"But they don't allow gays in the military."  

"So you'll just  pretend to be straight."  Wait -- does this mean that Ray is straight?  I remember 1980: you didn't come out to any straight person, ever.  If they found out by accident, they would drop you instantly.  

Cameron considers the idea.  He can't afford college, and his only other option is Bismarck, North Dakota (move to West Hollywood?).  Besides, he wants to stay with Ray.

Scene 3: Back to the recruitment office: "Boot camp is a machine that turns boys into men. In 13 weeks you won't even recognize yourself."

"Sounds great.  Let's do it."

Scene 4:  Parris Island, South Carolina. The boot camp bullying begins immediately, as Drill Instructor Knox (Zach Roerig) screams for the recruits to get off the bus. Drill Sergant McKimmon introduces himself --by yelling and insulting them.  This triggers Cameron.  Actually, it's starting to trigger me.

They call their "next of kin" to say that they arrived safely.  But they have to follow the script.  A guy who deviates has to do push-ups.

Next come haircuts, punishment for smiling at each other, dinner (forced to retrieve food that he threw away and eat it, gross!) , new uniforms (lots of beefcake).  

Uh-oh, Cam can't find his boots, so he's forced to go barefoot. That must be the reason for the title of the series.

Next, Drill Instructor Knox forces them to run to their bunk room and make their beds fast. He yells at Ray for being Asian, and forces the recruit who stole Cam's boots to do push-ups.

Another recruit flirts with Cam.

Back home, Older Brother is watching a public-domain 1930s cartoon.  Mom was too drunk to notice when Cody mentioned that he was joining the Marines, so she is shocked when she gets his phone message. 

Scene 5: Night.  Cameron sneaks out to go to the bathroom, and finds another recruit pleasuring himself (maybe do it in your bunk under the covers, like every other guy who sleeps in a dorm room?).  He sees Cam watching and calls him a homophobic slur. 

Cam runs back to his bunk and tells Buddy Ray that he made a mistake, he's got to get out of here.  It was an all-purpose slur, Princess -- he didn't really think you were gay.   

"It's hard on everyone," Ray answers. "I got a racist breathing down my neck."  

Scene 6: Drill Instructors Howlitt and Knox come in with trash can lids to wake up the recruits. Ochoa (Johnathan Nieves) gets yelled at for being...you know (not visible on screen).  He may be the one who flirted with Cam.

Cam gets bullied for not shaving properly, and later is asked if he has a girl back home. "She dumped me.  She's a Communist."  

Time for the strength test, which involves sit-ups and running, where he bonds with the fat guy John Bowman (Blake Burt). He joined because it's family tradition.

Next, you have to do at least three pull ups, or you're out.  Cam sees his chance: he pretends that he can't do any, but then he wants to encourage John Bowman, so he does his three, and stays in.   The Drill Sergeant allows them to hug and yell, as  long as they say "ooray" instead of "hooray."  

More after the break

See Here, Private Hargrove: To Be Young Was Very Heaven

 When I was an undergraduate at Augustana College, there was a metal book rack in the foyer of the library marked "Take a book, leave a book."  There wasn't usually much of a selection: well-thumbed copies of The Godfather and Love Story,  romance novels, five-year old freshman composition textbooks.  But I found a small red textbook of Medieval Latin and Tarzan the Invincible (one of the later Burroughs novels).  One damp, cloudy Saturday afternoon during my senior year, there was nothing but an ancient, yellow-paged paperback, See Here, Private Hargrove.  

Army life during World War II?  Dreary!  But I was heading for a 5-hour shift at the Student Union Snack Bar, which was always deserted on Saturday nights, and I needed something to read.  So I exchanged it for The Dispossessed, by Ursula K. LeGuin. 

I had a slight sore throat, a sort of lump that made swallowing difficult -- in the COVID era it would be inconceivable to go to work while sick, but back in the 1980s, unless you were dying, you went.  The Snack Bar was a desolate square space with about ten round white tables and a gleaming counter up front. I was the only one working.  We sold hamburgers, french fries, sandwiches, chips, sodas, and some desserts.

 From the cash register I could see the glass wall with doors leading outside, now dark and stormy with rain; the banks of mailboxes to the left, and Adam's Bookstore to the right.   From 5 to 10 pm, I had maybe ten customers.  I had dinner at my post -- a hamburger, french fries, and a carton of milk. 

 But mostly I read See Here, Private Hargrove.  It was a collection of humorous anecdotes, originally published in the Charlotte, North Carolina News, about Marion Hargrove's life as a private at Fort Bragg in 1940 and 1941: "The Boy Across the Table...",  "A Soldier Stuck His Hand....", "I Grinned Weakly...": chores, drills, bellowing sergeants, trips into town to go to movies.  The sort of thing that was popular during the Vietnam War: No Time for Sergeants, Gomer Pyle, Hogan's Heroes (not quite the same, but close enough).

I've done some research since.  The novel was made into a movie in 1944, starring Robert Walker (1918-1951). best known for the gay-subtext Hitchcock thriller Strangers on a Train (1951). He was married twice and had four children, so I doubt that he was gay in real life.

I haven't seen the movie, but according to IMDB, Private Hargrove gets a girlfriend (played by Donna Reed, future 1950s housewife on The Donna Reed Show) and a best buddy (played by gay actor Keenan Wynn).  So there may be some buddy-bonding.

Robert Walker's son, Robert Walker, Jr (1940-2019)., played the boy raised by aliens, Charlie X, on a 1966 episode of Star Trek.  He had three wives and seven children.  Probably not gay.

Marion Hargrove (1919-2003) went on to write two more novels, plus magazine articles and television scripts.  His credits include I Spy, The Name of the Game, and The Waltons.  His humorous account of trying to get a couch for the studio office was published in The Playboy Book of Humor and Satire (1965).  He had two wives and six children, so probably not gay.

Today, I have replaced the small paperback with a hardbound copy -- just to have, not to read -- I don't want any new memories to develop.  I want to see the book on its shelf and flash back to that night -- the sore throat,  the hamburger and carton of milk, gazing out through the glass windows into a rainstorm, all of it.  Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very heaven.

See also: Boots: A gay teen and his straight buddy join the Marines. In 1990. With other gay characters and all the beefcake you could hope for

Arabic and Class Rings: Cruising at West Point during my junior year in high school

Halloween Horror: Cruising in Lynchburg, VIrginia, the scariest place on Earth

 

Link to the n*de photos

We're only 30 miles from Hell.

I'm spending fall break in Charlottesville with Jonathan Peng Lee, my hustler/engineer/paranormal enthusiast/gym rat friend who I met at Alan's funeral.  It's two days before Halloween, and he has promised to bring me to the scariest place on Earth.

I expected a haunted house, but no: we're spending two nights in Lynchburg, Virginia!

How did I let Jon talk me into this foolhardy trip?  Over an hour driving through the Shenandoah Valley that General Sherman burned, through towns named Arkham...I mean Amherst...Stonewall -- no connection to the birthplace of the modern Gay Rights Movement -- Greif (grief misspelled by rednecks).

Now it's only 20 miles to Lynchburg.

The site of Thomas Road Baptist Church, where Jerry Falwell, the biggest homophobe in the world, spewed his venom.  The site of Homophobia University, where the top homophobes in the country send 15,000 of their kids to learn how to hate us more.

We're going undercover as fundamentalists, but still, I doubt we'll make it out alive.

""Why would anyone name a city after the mob murders of thousands of African-Americans in the years after the Civil War?" I wonder.

"It was named before that, after its founder, who ran a ferry in the 1780s," Jon reads off wikipedia. "Hey, guess what?  He was an abolitionist.  Progressive, huh?"

"Oh, very.  I'll bet he was pro-gay, too."

We cross nameless suburbs, then the River Styx (I mean James).

My first view: Eerie yellow lights, a dark stormy sky, the dark tower like something out of Mordor.

We have a reservation at Craddock Terry Hotel on Commerce Street, "steeped in history."  There's a giant woman's shoe over the lobby.

"Fabulous, isn't it?"  Jon says sarcastically.

"Don't use that word.  Remember, undercover -- one room, two beds, and call me 'Brother.'"

"Whatever you say, darling."

"Ha-ha, very funny."


'

We have dinner at a place called Bootleggers, a couple of blocks away.  You enter from the basement: "like you're entering a speakeasy."  There's a gigantic mural of old-time rednecks.  I order a turkey burger and truffle-laced french fries.

Rather elegant for Homophobia Central, I have to admit.

Afterwards we return to our hotel room and go on Grindr to look for a hookup.  I expect a lot of married closet-case-angst types, but we end up inviting over a student from one of the local colleges -- not Homophobia University.  Tall, slim, thick black hair, into oral.  He's a Humanities major, and on the swim team.

"You must be closeted among your teammates," I say.

"Oh, no, not at all.  The team camptain is queer.  I think he's majoring in Human Services with a concentration in LGBTQ Advocacy."

LGBTQ Advocacy?  WTF?

"Not everybody in town is as backwards as that other university," he says.  "Too bad you won't be here next spring.  They're doing The Laramie Project at the Renaissance Theater."

He spends the night, but doesn't go out for breakfast with us.  On our own, we opt for waffles at the White Hart Cafe, which is also a used bookstore. No gay books per se, but I do find a biography of Truman Capote.

"What do you want to do today?" Jon asks.  He reads the possibilities from Trip Advisor: "A children's museum, the city museum, a historic mansion, the old cemetery with a Confederate Monument, the Pest House Medical Museum..."

"Have a lot of pestilence in Lynchburg, do they?"

The full story, with more Lynchburg and n*de photos, is on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends.

See also: Matt Crabtree: Shy, quiet, stuttering Southern boy grows up to "Modern Family," "Will and Grace," one-man shows, and d*ks

Eight P*nises nd Packages of South Carolina

"The Eyes of Tammy Faye": A gay-positive light in the homophobic 1980s, with n*de photos, not of the televangelists