There's No Place Like Home For The Holidays

....And since we were seldom if ever at home, I'll have to assume the correctness of that statement and move on. Christmas for us started around the slow months after Easter and before we left for another home in a place called Broadmoor, a pleasant suburb of Colorado Springs. It was then when Mother started wrapping gifts to put around the tree for the photographs for the newspaper of our family enjoying (?) Christmas with one another. Those presents contained nothing save a box or whatever was wrapped to emulate a gift. Some years it was a broken hand mixer, part of a piano leg, a broken dog's dish, just anything to provide variety to the supposed loot that photographed well. The tree, fully decorated and delivered by the florist  came with a battery of minions who decorated the rooms that might be seen and then, after the media had left us, took it all down. After all, Christmas decorations for Halloween would have seemed a tad odd. But then much of what my family did was odd. 

Some of my favourite years were spent in transit from one place to another which involved leasing three railroad cars from various railroads. It was so much easier that way and you'll have to take my word on that one, it just was. Also, certain lines had, somewhat unjustly, said most of the family was welcome, just not all. Something about drunkenness in public places, nudity and lewd behavior. Also a cousin or two and my sister tended to defray their boredom by climbing up and pulling the emergency brake-I'm given to understand if you were in the dining car when the train lurched to a very sudden stop.....I'll leave it to your imagination just assume that the worst you can come up with is modest compared to actuality. And, remember, this is pre-Amtrak so there were far nicer facilities, the crews actually worked to make passengers happy, it was a world that is now forgotten but can be recalled if you're willing to travel to Europe for the Orient Express at least to Venice, South Africa for the Blue Train from Cape Town to Pretoria or Australia for either the Ghan or the Indo-Pacific express. 

I didn't attend school-I wasn't yet a citizen so there was no need for any form of public education. Also, my grandfather was grooming me to take over his oil company which required  a rather more specialized education. Along the way I'd picked up English-as a third language, all the maths I needed, geography, English Lit and whatever else seemed interesting. Was that all I learned? Certainly not. It wasn't just the family that traveled, we took some of our staff from each of our homes, mainly maids and house men but also two chauffeurs. They couldn't be hustled on a bus-I'm not sure we even knew that travel by bus existed-so they joined us on the train. Remember I said THREE cars, do you begin to understand why? 

En route, while the adults drank, played cards or slept off hangovers, the staff was stuck taking care of the younger travelers a job they could not have relished. I don't know because I was assigned my own person, my grandfather's chauffeur Cepetti even then still a fugitive from a Prisoner of War Camp for Italians in Oklahoma. B1 (Bastard one, I was Bastard  two) had been looking at some drilling areas some of which were in the camp. No problem, B1 drove through the front gate, introduced himself to the Commanding Officer, handed him a split case of liquor and was given someone to show him about. What he saw and wanted was a fine looking Cavalry officer trying to ride a quarter horse without much success and that's what he took home with him. (He also had a large number of race horses so the acquisition of Cepetti was a natural fit. That we had no business having him, mattered to no one, especially B1 and his wife who found him to be an excellent chauffeur.) When I was brought up from the Cape, B1 decided that he could do a better job of raising me and so moved me into their mansion and began the tedious task of trying to understand what I was saying. Between my first language, Afrikaans and my second language Xhosa (used to deal with the servants) English finished a poor third. Adding to the problem, when he wasn't driving, his lot in life was to be with me so, naturally, I learned Italian. 

We all loved Cepetti but no one as enthusiastically as I did for, after a certain age, eleven I believe, I told B1 that, I was sorry to disappoint him but....I liked men as my intimate companions. While I wasn't up to speed on sex, I knew that was at the base. What to do? Well, it hardly bothered B1 who had worked in the oil fields of Pennsylvania in the 19th century when wells were dug by hand. As he explained it to me, there were no whore houses, they were, at all events, reserved for the wealthy from Pittsburgh, so when men wanted to fuck, they'd lay a kid over something, pull down his pants, pull out their cock and fuck him. With some pride B1 said he'd had the privilege of being used by Colonel Drake himself. Three times. The two of us bowed our heads in loving memory of Colonel Drake and his penis. Remember there were no child labor laws, at least that had teeth so working on a well dig was considered a good occupation, it was outdoors-as opposed to those sad children who worked in coal mines with only a pit pony as a companion-one learned a trade and a craft as well as inadvertently getting into an industry that would in a very great way change the United States. 

There were some niceties that needed to be observed for the appearance of things; Cepetti could not sleep in my room and I couldn't occupy the Chauffeurs quarters with him. B1 solved that problem by installing, at the same time as an elevator, a "play" room in the attic that was equipped with things for me to learn and a very comfortable bed in which I learned more. And we're back at travel by train. Cepetti and I would be given a bedroom that slept two comfortably, had a bathroom and shower and as we had a diner/observation car as one of ours, food was just across the vestibule. Dress was casual, except in the evening when the adults dined or, in our room, none existent. I never went out, loathed my cousins (who were equally unfond  of me) so this division of the children worked out well enough. 

Every young boy who knows they are to be a homosexual should have a man like Cepetti or, even better, a clone of his. Being Italian turned out to be a plus not to mention his Cavalry history which kept me in shape and a good rider. Those good nights on the train when we'd fuck as the fields went by were the best. He was gentle at first but upped that as I got older and a lot bigger. And, to quote Mrs. Patrick Campbell when asked about her new lover, "Six five and everything in perfect proportion." I never knew Mrs. Campbell but I was six five and the rest...is left for those who I know or have known. Whenever we got to another city, I could easily have stayed with the family but I bunked in with my Italian lover who could find things in a city that were not on the approved list of tourist attractions. You need to have your mind thoroughly wrapped around this one as it goes a long way to understanding me; At 14 I looked and acted more like 25. Always a solemn child, that gave the impression, if you didn't know me, of age. B1 had taught me to drink, smoke and play poker. He did not believe men smoked cigarettes as that was effeminate unless you rolled your own. Cigars were for men and that's what I smoked. Eventually. Liquor was Bourbon and taken neat or sipped. You shaved with a straight razor-and I still could save that MS renders my hands too unreliable and blood could be drawn.

I learned geography by following B1's string of race horses around the country to the point I wasn't always sure where I lived. My sister, also adopted from a different litter-a fact for which I'm grateful-and I had nothing in common save a certified last name given us by the courts as adoptees. I, however, had come with a codicil that I kept my South African citizenship until such time as I either surrendered it and became a citizen of what was carefully worded as, "another foreign power". Notice the United States in that? It's not there. I did get dual citizenship for I was too young to have my own US passport, although I had one from South Africa which all manner of confusion at various customs and immigration point as we wandered in and out of the country. If we had one address that we were told to use it was
"Two East Fifty Fifth Street, New York City". I'll save you some time, that's the St. Regis Hotel where we did live many months out of the year.  

Cepetti had a child's love of anything festive which led to Italian Ice and Ice Cream (Next to Russian, the best in the world), always being available. Not precisely a lapsed Catholic, he was more of an occasional Catholic, particularly on Sunday mornings when he thought he and I should stay in bed-wherever that bed happened to be-and fuck. Eventually, a friendly Episcopalian Bishop, a golfing buddy of my father's waived all sorts of canon law and I was accepted as a full fledged Episcopalian, truly a fine sect that was not against much of anything save poverty.

Christmas was tricky as it preceded board meetings that some or all of my family needed to attend so, after admiring yet another tree-decorated by the florist as was our various homes, noting that presents were there-Neiman Marcus did magnificent gift wrapping so a gift from them was easy to spot-and we knew that at some point we'd open them. Some years as early as Valentine's day, sometimes Easter, it depended on a number of variables. Since I'd been handed over to B1 on a full time basis, which meant Cepetti on a full time basis, we'd see my sort of parents occasionally, they'd comment on how I was growing, how well they were sure I was doing with my studies, all the things say about their children just generally to persons other than the child himself.

In a way, this worked out for the best as my "sister" was a hellcat whom any fighting corps would have had doubts about. Pretty as a picture-when she wasn't agitated and in motion, she had a vicious streak which was how Surrealist Painter Salvador Dali became a friend of ours. It was in the elevator at the St. Regis-we were there for Christmas, I 'd been dragged along so that we appeared as one big happy family, when she looked up, saw his rather unusual look and kicked him in the shins. Several times. Needless to say that occasioned his meeting my parents when he returned my sister to our apartment asking to speak to Madam, the lady of the residence. For some oddball reason, he liked us and we liked him. His family was as screwy as ours which we truly discovered when Sra. Dali paid an infrequent visit to New York. In the end he did portraits, pastels, of both children, doodled over drawings in a set of Winnie the Pooh books and rendered a portrait of my mother which now hangs in a museum in Spain. Once the "happy familial look" was over, I was sent back, or rather Cepetti was sent to collect me, to B1 who had arranged a poker game with his friends. Naturally, I took a hand as I had my own money, courtesy mines in South Africa and what might have been called a sort of Dowry. It was nice to get back to B1, his wife GDI (I had no idea what to call her so I called her what B1 called here which was God Damn It Edna. GDI. 

B1 didn't believe in gifts as such, he believed in stocks or bonds or trust funds; His operant theory behind "no gifts" was that I had everything I wanted or needed so what the Fuck waste time wrapping up what amounted socks and underwear. He believed gentlemen wore the sort of hose that were held up by garters and either nothing or a jock; So much for socks and underwear. None of that tiresome crap of sitting around feigning lyrical stupid happiness when the best thing to do was invite in all the servants, hand out thick envelopes, no checks, cash only, have several rounds of drink and that took care of that. 

No one planned on my Godfather and his love of children and Christmas which led to an strange set of circumstances that almost blew up the North end of town. Uncle Mac had insisted on being named as my Godfather as he had friends, often when shooting with them, in South Africa. He was duly invested as mine and not much more attention was paid to that. He had a habit of doing the unusual or so it seemed to others, just not to him and his circle of friends. For example, although he saw the good in American Station Wagons they lacked a certain, well, something as well as some interior equipment he felt necessary. The solution to that was to commission Rolls Royce to build their version of an American Station Wagon. Certain English firms, and perhaps Rolls was one of them, built was known as a "shooting break" or an SUV of those bygone years that one took in the field, or anywhere, and went shooting. Amongst other things. Rolls didn't work at the same pace as, say, Fords' assembly line so by the time the car was delivered, he'd grown out of the interest in having one so it was delivered to a hotel he owned in California. When members of the family were in the area, it was ours to drive, rather elaborate transport to go to the stables and talk to horse trainers.

 Now and again he'd decide to do something for me, something he thought I didn't have or might like. It was the era of the Lionel Train that every boy wanted so....he usurped a former coal room in B1's basement that was about forty by forty and caused a gigantic Lionel Train set to be installed. What it didn't have, Lionel didn't make. Was it a hit? Yes, but not as he'd intended. All the men in the family and their friends reverted to childhood and played with it all the time. Other than those moments, it was locked up so it wouldn't be damaged although by whom just wasn't specified. What I do know is that my being denied what B1 saw as a fine gift, one he probably kicked himself for not thinking up, was stupidly being used by the wrong kind of boy, a fact he mentioned to Mac at Santa Anita in February. 

I am sure that B1 didn't suggest what happened although the genesis for it was stuck in Mac's mind. He, too, was annoyed that a gift he hoped would please me hadn't, indeed had been corrupted by men who, if they wished, could by their own fucking train set; Some of them had sons who would surely enjoy it even if I was denied mine. Also at Santa Anita that year was wonderful character actor Charles Coburn who had he box next to ours. The two gentlemen, B1 and Mr. Coburn, struck up a friendship that included me. The times between the performances (races) could be a bore and that's when they decided to teach me math. I assure you, I already knew how to add things up but this was as bit different. I'm told that children of that period were taught math using incredibly stupid word problems such as Tommy has six apples and gives Susie two, how many has he left? My answer, when B1 mentioned this, was to stub out my cigar and wonder, aloud, why Tommy didn't just rip off her drawers, fuck her brains out and keep the apples. The gentlemen were impressed with this logic but thought it too simple. Here was the problem they gave me: It's the third race at Hialeah, big storm over night, you're running a virgin (a horse that's never run at that track) so you've got long odd, say 20-1. Now you saw this Irish gelding at Saratoga so you've got an idea. The problem is how much to bet and how to bet it. Just to set it up properly, they suggested I use a twenty as my intended bet and forget any trifectas or other multiples. Assuming you'd win, how much? In other words, you'd ripped off the other punters pants, fucked them in the ass and kept the money. That's how I learned math.

Meanwhile back at the round house, Uncle Mac was assembling another train for me. Under the guise of a cocktail party at Union Station to see him off for...Somewhere, all the guys, and their wives were invited. At one point, the sound of a train was heard and, to be sociable, we all went up trackside to see......a steam engine, coal car, mail car and a coach. Down the side was a wide red ribbon that said, "PETR-JOHAN'S TRAIN". And it was, title and everything. Seems the Santa Fe was converting to Diesel and he'd bought this train to make up for what I'd not got the first time. Just to put a fine point on it, Pinkerton Men, in period costumes, appeared from doors and windows carrying shotguns. Two of them escorted B1, Mac and me to the coach and the train pulled out leaving only the ribbon trailing behind us until it was torn off at a grade crossing. He'd worked this all out with the railroad so that we zipped out of town, horns blowing, smoke billowing, it was quite a show particularly for those who didn't expect it which was pretty much everyone. Eventually the train was switched onto a siding which took us to another spur which led into one of B1's refineries. 

Mac had had the car fitted out with....a bar so he, B1 and Cepetti, who'd been in on it, all sat back and decided what to do now. There was a great deal of acrimony among the family; They'd just learned that I'd been emancipated in contemplation, some said, of B1's death so I could take over whatever he would leave me to take over. That however wasn't the plan. It had been years since Cepetti had been taken prisoner in Italy and B1 thought he'd served his sentence, it was time for him to go home. As he went he could take me as far as Lisbon where South African Airways would collect me and take me....home. At least for a while. 

It would be years before I saw any of the "family" again. I began one of the three loves of my life, a Captain for South African, who risked hanging, as did I, by beginning a homosexual relationship with me. The next Christmas, lacking a steam engine, found Curt and me in the typical minimal bathing costumes worn by men armed with a sack of tins filled with Pilchards for the penguins and, as Christmas day ended, slipping out of our trunks and making love in a cove near his home. 

Eventually I did go back, attended USC Graduate School, did my post doc work there, got shot in the Watts riots.....but that's of no interest. 

To those who might wonder how much of this is true, I would only comment that I've changed some names, altered a few places but in the main....that's how it happened a very long time ago starting with Christmas in October.  PETR-JOHAN v. W.