Sweet Life

Months later, the Muxe, Justicia, arrived in LA. Russel and Fredrick planned on taking him to the North Shore in San Francisco. New clubs and new shows were opening; he'd be a star as soon as he hit the stage representing a “third gender.” Fredrick showed me in a book he had.

Justicia brought his beauty, his graceful, fluid movements, soft voice to our home. Serafina was agog.

He wore his hair in a bob, cut straight across his forehead and a deep brown shawl over a peasant blouse, gathered skirt and sandals. He needed no makeup.

As we ate, I noticed him looking around, inspecting things in our home, noting how we spoke and ate.

In the face of the young performer, I saw myself as I walked into Russel's house the first time and knew what he was feeling. Silently, I told him to stay strong, stay himself, another native boy with dreams had to keep his feet firmly planted on the earth.

Wanted to kiss him, touch him.

***

Work moved along with Romy and I solidly in the leadership role; flourishing as we bought more rental properties; our work expanded as the airport grew. Greenhouse made deliveries to the biggest decorators and landscapers up and down the coast and the orders didn't stop. Rental properties were aging, needed more maintenance. We hired more men like us, more men needing a hand up the ladder.

Our careers became easier when we learned what was important and what could be taken care of later.

Serafina began working full-time with Toddy and his crew, keeping the rental books. She took short vacations, taking Ona and Maria to the beach with Toddy’s teenagers and Holmes.

Romy and I started meeting with Russel and Fredrick at some of the new Long Beach clubs. Though not advertised as meeting places for fags, they became popular quickly. I suspected some of the men were undercover cops, but the clubs were open, and we enjoyed them.

Homosexuals still couldn’t marry. Brave men and women, groups from San Francisco and other towns kept the topic in discussion. It was no longer as taboo, but still chancy to reveal oneself publicly until 1975.

***

Before the holidays I browsed the catalogues looking for the new elasticized swim trunks. Those would make good gifts for Fredrick and Russel. Tanned, lean, white-haired seniors needed white trunks.

Serafina called me into the living room, my dad called.

All was going well for him and my family. All working, bought a row house and they were grandparents several more times. They always thanked me for those CCC checks.

"Have you seen Jonathan lately?" Dad asked.

"No. Has he contacted you?"

"No. Just wondering. Your aunt, moved in with us. She worries about Jonathan."

"I'll let you know if I hear anything."

***

My conscience nagged me into it; I went down to the police department and asked about any information on our brake lines being cut or Johnathan McCann. Had to wait almost an hour till one of the captains came out and took me aside. He had a small card in his hand. "Is this your cousin?"

He showed me a very small photo pasted on the card, name: J. McCann. Seemed he'd been hauled in from San Ysidro several months ago. Hard to recognize him with a six-inch by one-inch black stripe across his forehead, right above his eyebrows, a perfect rectangular stripe.

"What's on his forehead?"

The captain gave me a half-smile, "Tattoo. We did the best we could, but well... we did the best we could. He's over at the county jail now, working in the library, I heard." Then he left.

Curiosity got the best of me. At the county jail I asked to speak with someone in authority, and was escorted back to hear the strangest tale:

The warden's assistant escorted me to his office. This was becoming more mysterious by the moment. No one said Jonathan died or was sick, I wondered what Jonathan got himself into in San Ysidro. Dusty border town right at Tijuana, filled with mostly shops and services for travelers. Not a drinking town.

Waited in a small office while a secretary was given some orders, "Mr McCann, I’ve got bad news, and it could be worse." He began.

After we'd visited Rosarito Beach and Tijuana, Jonathan was presented to the customs officials at the border, escorted by several Tijuana police. The Tijuana police said he was causing problems in a certain part of town, alluding to La Zona Rosa. Tijuana police found he had pending charges in the US.

Cousin Jonathan crossed the line and met with street justice... They dumped him at San Ysidro with a warning that he'd serve the rest of his life in a Mexican jail if they caught him south of the border.

"Your cousin wasn't feeling very well after being dumped in San Ysidro. Jail medic put him on antibiotics, sedatives. He'd been tattooed."

"A tattoo doesn't make you sick, does it?"

"This one did. Your cousin came over with the word "Unoco" inked on his forehead." He chuckled, "Seems the guy who gave him the tattoo couldn't spell."

Cocked my head, "Unoco?" I tried to figure that out, "Does that mean `unique?'"

"Means eunuch." The officer sighed. "Your cousin was castrated. I guess the problems he caused were sex-related. We don’t know who, but someone fixed his problem for him. Won't hear of any more troubles from him now, he's in for twenty-five from some old warrants and some state offenses. This is the safest place for him."

"Can I see him?" My stomach was turning thinking of a street castration and painful tattooing. "His mother is worried."

"Come back tomorrow morning around eight."

***

Jonathan refused to see me. Found out he was kept in isolation but for meals and reshelving books.

Hard explaining about the tattoo when called my parents. Together we decided to tell everyone Jonathan retired in Mexico to salvage the family name.

After I hung up, I sent a check to Jonathan's mom to help out with whatever she needed and went back to work, relieved that I wouldn't have to worry about my cousin again.

At lunch I called Fredrick, seemed like he might have had something to do with Jonathan's current physical state. He only said that there were many ways to protect one's self.

Refused to say any more.

***

Maria and her husband retired after years with Russel and Fredrick. Shortly thereafter, Russel and Fredrick moved their bedroom in the pool house to avoid the stairs. A few housekeepers came and went until Serafina took that situation in hand and a young woman to assist her.

The annual parties were smaller affairs with Romy's and my business associates, a newer, younger wave of entrepreneurs and professionals including several performers.

***

As we began training new men to take our positions, Fredrick and Russel stayed alongside with advice and counsel, though not very often.

Never suggested exchanges of "appreciation" with the men we mentored. In some ways, Romy and I were like Toddy and Ona. I kept my relationship with Romy close, still felt protective of him at times.

Society had changed, and appreciation among men was more open, more relaxed. We kept our young trainees by paying them what they were worth.

We all had more than we needed, our families were provided for and the year Toddy's girl graduated UCLA we partied hard with a house full of college students. Unfortunately, many would be drafted into the military. Another war in Europe was heating, and it would change our lives and LA forever.

***

Fredrick and Russel often reminisced about the "good ol' days" when we first began working together.

One Sunday afternoon, I loaded everyone in the Cadillac along with our proteges. Drove down to San Diego to show them what Russel and Fredrick pulled us out of before our "good ol' days" began.

Romy showed them the canyon that burned, the place on Otay where we'd made love for the first time with sardine oil to ease our orgasms though he didn’t mention it. That brought back mixed memories of living under the open skies and being close under the stars.

The young men listened. They had no context for the poverty and desperation Romy and I survived.

These boys had education, maybe they'd been poor, but from the looks of their bodies, they'd never been hungry. They had good minds for business and new trends – didn't need the CCC training in leadership, these young men were sharp.

***

San Diego was a changed town, military and their families, suburbs, none of the old shanties remained. We found a place on the beach for dinner and enjoyed the sunset listening to Russel and Fredrick recount our lives for us.

As we returned to the car, Fredrick mentioned he'd kept a diary, "Red, leather-bound in the right hand drawer of my desk." He whispered.

A diary? Fredrick kept all kinds of records and notes, though he was subtle about it and I understood why. His diary could blow LA apart and destroy a lot of lives if it were in the wrong hands.

***

The time was nearing, Romy's hair was still thick and silver, mine was white. We managed more with words and memos than with being on the sites, dealing with the managers.

Fredrick and Russel retired to a quiet life in the pool house. A nurse came daily. Fredrick and Serafina pushed Russel in his wheelchair to dine by the pool in the evening, and I watched closely.

They were more intimate in their touches, whispered words, and I suspected what would happen; said nothing.

When Russel weakened to the point of not wanting to get up, it was a few days later we found them embraced on their bed, bodies cold. All of Russel's pain medications were gone, and so were the loving men who'd taken us under their wing's years ago.

Found it hard to cry, instead I was proud. Proud to have given them some peace through their passing. They'd lived their half-lives in public and full lives with us inside a discrete compound, incredibly successful and highly-respected.

***

Following in their footsteps, our young men stepped into leadership roles in the business with much more savvy Romy and I had. Good thing they were there – my parents were older. Romy and I attended their passing from the back of the funeral home so we could stand together—I was a sobbing mess.

Several years later, Serafina passed. Romy's family came for the services.

I stayed home though I cried at losing the wonderful woman who'd loved me like her own. Toddy stood in for me. He and Ona greeted everyone along with Romy, took photos.

Toddy and his family stood beside us till the very end, good friends and their loving children were like ours, too.

***

Hertz stock allowed Romy and I to retire early and advise our replacements from San Diego.

Got a place on Coronado Island, met a few friends from the Hillcrest area and often went out deep-sea fishing with them. Life was quiet, and it was good with an open horizon every morning, clear skies and sunny days.

Before we moved, I'd had enough sense to go through everything Russel and Fredrick left. Photos I packed carefully – many loving memories. Found that ancient ivory dildo, a few other odd items and tucked those away till I could find out what they were.

Didn't stop till I found the red, leather-bound diary in Fredrick's things and carefully tucked it into my suitcase along with the books about sexuality. He had quite the library but none of it included the changes we'd seen in our lives.

Romy and I read though Fredrick's diary at night. Russel and Fredrick had hobnobbed with the royalty of Los Angeles and almost been outed several times, but they were slick and found ways to get out of their tight spots.

Found the details when Russel blackmailed Sepulveda. Seems Russel, ever the entrepreneurial strategist, had become something of a procurer of sources for unusual fetishes, odd practices though never demanded a finder's fee. Alongside the names of the biggest government contractors were the names of the young men Russel had sent to them – the honchos had secret proclivities.

There were almost a hundred names of business owners and politicians in those pages along with the full names of their flings. A lot of those young men were business owners now, I recognized their names.

Then, it occurred to me that Romy and I had never been introduced or `loaned' to anyone, in fact, we were kept on short leashes, tied to the businesses. That made me recall the "lessons" Fredrick had given to me the first night we met.... Had they changed their customs or had I adopted theirs?

There were notes about meeting us; Fredrick had doubts about us being able to manage, but Russel had championed us. Fredrick was the one who wanted to start us out in the manual labor at the airport, testing our perseverance.

***

Toward the back of the diary, I came to several pages involving Jonathan. It began with a short recap about Jonathan's relationship to me and Romy, and our interactions as I'd explained to Fredrick years ago.

There were a few names mentioned, Spanish names, and Fredrick's notes included more Spanish words. Encoded. From what I could gather, Fredrick knew several officers in the Mexican military. Somehow, he offered a reward among the military men and had given them a mugshot of Jonathan, told them he didn't care where he was found, and explained that he had to be taken to the San Ysidro crossing and offered up as an escaped convict.

"Then, let LA handle it." It made no mention of castration or tattooing, but Fredrick had encouraged the men to make sure Jonathan couldn't bother anyone again.

Several pages later there was a note regarding the misspelling of the word "eunuco" and something about three-hundred dollars in cash. The LA jail had tried to black-out the word with additional ink, to protect Jonathan. He was a marked man, literally.

Wondered how Jonathan was doing. I called the jail and found out he'd hung himself after being assaulted again. No tears, instead relief. His fight with the world was over.

***

After the war in Europe, and into the Korean and Vietnam battles, Romy and I kept abreast of what was happening in the world, and California. Pink triangles were sad. It became a recycled symbol now in America. Homosexuals were still treated poorly in the general population yet were gaining footholds in society and the word "Pride" seemed to appear with the word "Gay" often.

Half-lives became three-quarter lives as queers began laying the foundations for institutions like holy unions. There were still crimes and violence in gay areas, and there probably always would be, but now homosexuals formed their own security forces to guard their communities until tax-funded policing could occur.

Society balked, sometimes, yet homosexual youth protested along with the leaders of the gay communities. Sure, some of the families had shunned their young queers, and there were more parents and families in support than we'd ever seen.

Sweet Life

Epilogue

Being older, more introspective, Romy wanted to return to the church.

I felt no need to repent and needed absolution from nothing; I dodged traditional churches he suggested.

On a Sunday night he took me to the intersection of North Park and 30th. Old neighborhood, tightly packed with small duplexes and homes built during WWII. Parked in a bowling alley across the street and we walked toward a church, well it had a cross in front. Two buildings with red tile roofs. On the top of one, "God is Love," an ancient sign read.

"C'mon." Romy prompted me. I was miffed being drawn into this until we went up the steps to the sanctuary. A small brass plaque on the side of the door read "International Church of the Foursquare Gospel founded by Amy Semple McPherson – Original Foursquare Sanctuary of San Diego."

Sister Amy's church? I stepped back to look again. This was one of the first churches she'd established. All the songs, the wings of a dove, the stories from the radio at camp came rushing back.

"Welcome." A tall, dark man at the door handed us a bulletin and motioned us toward the sanctuary. We went inside to see a small choir practicing for the service and sat among a cluster of folks; looked like families that lived in the area.

People spoke softly, I read the bulletin, "Metro Community."

"Why are we here?" I asked Romy softly.

"This place welcomes everyone and I want you with me. If you don't like it, we'll leave." He put his arm on the back of the pew behind me.

Sat there thinking about Sister Amy. She'd struck out in bad times, long before us. Her followers poured the foundations, raised these walls I sat in the middle of it, feeling the hands hauling bricks, mortar being spread, the sounds of hammers pounding nails years ago echoed through my head….

She'd given me hope during our times at the camp, reassuring me that there was good in humanity. I recalled how Romy and I had clung to each other for the strength to hold onto our hope.

Not empty words or dribbling pipelines had kept us. Hope and the bounty from others who had enough to share, fruits from the land... We’d survived to succeed.

***

The service started and the organist played soft tunes, like the winds through the canyon, the sea breezes in our ears the first time we walked the beach together. My mind drifted back to those days again and again...

"Come thou font of every blessing..." The choir began.

I knew the font of every blessing—the earth offering up nopales, the hearts of a farm woman and her children, a gas station owner, a humble Native American tribe, Toddy, Russel and Fredrick. So many hearts were the font of blessings.

***

We stood and read, sat and prayed, and my mind wandered back to Jonathan. All the goodness around him and he couldn't let go of his desperate need to bolster himself by demeaning others. It only had the opposite effect.

The doxology, "...from whom all blessings flow..." Russel and Fredrick came to mind clearly, all their wisdom, their loving ways with little chastising. They’d taken a big chance hiring us. I thanked them from every part of me; their spirits filled my heart in that moment.

That church service awakened things inside me, an expansive feeling for earth and all the people on it. Taste of a coconut raspa came to my tongue, "We're gonna make it. I know we will."

People stood.

Smiling, Romy took my hand and led me to the fellowship hall. Urns of coffee gave off clouds of steam as the worshipers stood about chatting. Men openly hugged and kissed each other; women did, too. Others in the room were unperturbed by the open affection between homosexuals.

Mixed crowd was new to me for a moment, then I welcomed that unease. This was how the world was supposed to be. A hug, a brief embrace, a smile offered freely.

Many kinds of love and love is a rare commodity.

***

We joined a group of men who were talking about their recent trip to San Francisco, recognizing many of the names of the clubs, and areas claimed by queer folk to the north. I smiled, remembering our first trip to San Francisco.

"Do you remember when we first went to San Francisco?" I asked as we left the building.

"Sure. Seeing the men whoring. I could have been one of them if you hadn’t kept me away from the curb.”

“Never stopped you.”

“I couldn’t disappoint you. Might have made money, but I’d lose you if I did. That’s how much I loved you. Didn’t have the words to say it.”

Thought about that.

As we entered our home, I took my lover in my arms, “Wine? I think there’s a can of sardines in the cabinet.”

Fin