Summer of Love II 1976. Excerpt from Chasing Rainbows: A Search for Identity amidst Role Confusion

[An excerpt about not knowing who you are]Nevertheless, I let Chris load my bicycle unto his Jeep. After which time we rode away, taking a ride around Newtown up Point O’ Rocks Road and Boggs’ Hill, smoking a joint or two and just talking. From what I remember, Chris came on to me, thinking that I was gay and simply in the closet. Naturally, I pushed him away, telling him that I didn’t want to do this. Being the decent guy that he was, Chris was okay with that and discontinued his pursuit of me, his trying to bring me “Out” of the closet. However, Chris was not one to give up easily. Later on during that summer, he would pick me up and offer me some pot to smoke. Taking me to see a friend of his from New York City who had a summer house on Candlewood Lake in New Milford, Connecticut. A novelist who was published and also worked for an advertisement agency, Chris’ friend lived in nearby New Milford. Taking him up on his offer some two weeks later, despite the fact that I was not ready to “Come out” as a gay teen, one who even knew that [she] was “gay” to any extent, I had a really good time that evening with Chris and his writer friend at his Candlewood Cottage.  I liked his writer friend, feeling that I could be more the adult and less the teenager I had to be around most of the other people I hung around.

The evening that Chris took me to see his friend, I had a very good time. For once, I felt that I didn’t have tom pretend to be what I wasn’t. Not only had he shown me all his record albums; he also showed me all the books he both owned and wrote himself. Truly, I felt comfortable, however, there was still that “Gay” thing that I did not understand. I was not ready to come out as a gay “male”. Oddly enough, I still saw myself as the “Straight male”, or so I thought. Fellatio, or oral sex upon a man, was not the thing for me. Not that I wasn’t at least open-minded enough, sexually speaking, to try it that night. I was. Much unlike all the homophobic asshole guys back in Newtown, including those I often chilled out with. Honestly, I did not know what the right path to take was. After all, I still had hopes of being the heterosexual “male” I thought I was. The one I was raised to believe that I was, yet really wasn’t. I was not “gay”, or so I thought, anyway. [Back in 1976, nobody ever used the term “LGBT”, an acronym that stands for “Lesbian/gay/bisexual/transgender”.]

Despite that, I really enjoyed visiting Chris’ friend. For once in my mostly fucked up teenage life, I felt comfortable. Both Chris, and his writer friend made me feel as if I were actually a part of the human race. No more and no less. For once, I felt as if I could simply be myself. However, at the time I was way too hyper, too confused by my attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, to see myself as artistically inclined. Looking back, however, I have a feeling that both Chris and his friend sensed that I was “One of the family”, or “Queer”. The only problem being that I, at age thirteen, was not quite ready to realize this. After all, I saw being “queer” as a bad, not good thing. “Queers” were abnormal. They were “Faggots, ass fuckers, ass lickers, pussy lickers, child-molesting Boy Scout Leaders” and the like. Not human beings like everyone else, who, like everyone else in America, had every right to the same civil rights the United States Constitution intended as a guarantee when our American Forefathers wrote “All men are created equal and have certain inalienable rights guaranteed by their creator”. If you actually believe in a creator, that is. Seeing what oppressive, evil “parasites” many who consider themselves to be “Christians” have become, ever since President Nixon designed and planned his “Republican Southern Strategy” to lure all the Southern bigots away from the Democratic Party of America [the conservative, prejudiced “Dixiecrats”] back in the early 70s, after age thirteen, I found it hard to believe in a fairy tale “God” and his so-called “Son” named [by Paul of Tarsus] “Jesus Christ”.    

About Maria? Well, without a doubt, Maria was definitely attractive, from the Playboy Magazine perspective, anyway. An Italian-American woman who was highly athletic, she was tall and thin. Much like the character “Jill” in Preiss and Reese’s One Year Affair, Maria had long black hair parted in the middle. That and a well-toned body; long before the yuppie-jockstrap fitness craze of the 1980s became popular and many upstart racquetball clubs and gyms soon took over the landscape in city and suburb alike. Exceptionally friendly beyond belief, especially after one took into account that she was a cheerleader and lifeguard, Maria was one of those teen women I could talk to without pretending to be something I was not. She was very smart and on the Newtown High School Honor Roll; I loved the fact that I could carry on a conversation with her. However, as the testosterone-driven “Gorilla” I was raised to be [due to physical birth sex assignment], often, I confused a woman wanting to be ‘friends-only’, with someone wanting a relationship with me. Put simply, I did not know the difference. That soon would play a part in whether she and I would get along. At first, she and I would became friends, true. Whenever I had nothing better to do, I’d ride into the town park and stop by her “post”. She and I would end up talking for at least an hour or more.

However, unable to understand the difference between “Friends-only” and sexual love, also called infatuation, in an opposite sex relationship because I didn’t understand how people of opposite sexes could even be “Just friends”. After all, back in the 1970s, that never happened in magazines; or on TV and in the movies. That and it never happened in any of the popular love songs I heard on the radio, one that comes to mind is B.J. Thomas’ 1968 hit, Hooked on a Feeling. 50 Particularly in the remake originally performed in 1971 by the United Kingdom’s Jonathan King, who, producing his own version, added “Ooga chukka” jungle chants at both beginning and end of song. [A version later reproduced in 1974 when Björn Skifs, lead singer of the Swedish pop group Blue Swede, did a cover including their own version of King's "Ooga chuka" introduction. The version I remember best, as it reached number one on the United States Pop (music) Charts.] That said, I began pursuing Maria to the point of obsession. Always pestering her for a “Date” because I liked her; unlike many other women living in Newtown who were, essentially, stuck-up bitches. Often I’d follow her home on my bicycle, all the way up Brushy Hill Road where she lived. Riding behind her bicycle, I’d holler “Maria! Maria! I like you a lot and want to go out with you!” During which time she’d constantly remind me, to no avail because I just could not [and still really cannot] understand the rules of social engagement, “I like you as a friend, ‘Frog’. Can’t you understand that? I think that you’re really sweet; however, I’m too old for you.”

Needless to say, I couldn’t take “No” for an answer from Maria, and, much the same as was with Jodi Harrington, soon I pissed Maria, too. However, Maria was a sweet, forgiving teenage woman. That said, I finally got it through my thick skull that all she wanted was for us to be friends and chat. Maria and I, as naïve teenage ‘Frog’ Oropal, became great friends. Referring again to my sister’s assumption that I had Asperger’s syndrome, despite never being diagnosed as such by a psychologist or psychiatrist, maybe that was true? That I do not know for sure. However, after reading what the symptoms are, maybe I did have [or still have] Asperger’s. Not really sure to be honest? However, for someone like my sister who subscribes, fully, to Wisconsin Senator Paul Ryan’s worldview of “Work as important virtue to all Americans”, in particular when he mentions those like myself [ and “ Urban males from the inner city”, translate “Black men”] who are “ Too lazy to work and would rather depend upon government Food Stamps and welfare”, whether or not I had/have Asperger’s and how it might have been the reason I was never able to hold a full-time job [or two to three part time jobs] is of primary importance. She, of course, referring to the social awkwardness often associated with those having Asperger’s; an inability to understand and interpret non-verbal, and verbal social cues.

However, this social awkwardness did not seem to interfere with my friendship with Chris; nor did it with his friend, a successful, published writer with both Manhattan apartment in New York City; and gorgeous weekend house overlooking Candlewood Lake in New Milford, Connecticut. Despite my fears of gay men at the time, the three of us had more than a great time that night at Chris’ writer friend’s place that night. His friend, whose name I have since forgotten, took me on a tour of his lovely weekend home in Connecticut. Telling me about the many other famous neighbors living in the area, he showed me all of his albums and played whatever I wanted to listen to. Honestly speaking, for the most part, he made me feel at ease. However, I did not think I was gay. I was basically sure that I was not a gay kid. To be perfectly honest, I was not sure what I was, exactly. It would be another thirty long years [chronologically speaking], that and a few sexual experiences with men, plus many more with women that never evolved beyond the first week to two months period, until I’d finally figure this out and “come out” of the closet. Much like Chris and his writer friend were encouraging me to that very night.  

An excerpt from my novel Chasing Rainbows: A Search for Identity

 The move to Newtown, Connecticut in 1974. "The summer weather drawing to a close, the nights up in Connecticut’s Berkshire Mountain Foothills were starting to get chilly. Nevertheless, I tried out our new in-ground swimming pool, enjoying our new place. That and I wandered around the property, down into the forest toward the rear property line and those two babbling brooks. One of which flowed year-round [Tom Brook], the other which flowed most of the year, except in cases of extreme drought. Having grown accustomed to having fences surrounding our backyards in Baldwin, I wondered where the property line was at. Meanwhile, our new neighbors, David Lydem-a police sergeant with the Newtown Police Department and his idiot hillbilly wife from Tennessee, both of them acted as if we were going to be just like the radiologist and his big Italian-American family. Naturally, they automatically assumed that we’d allow them to use our swimming pool anytime they felt like! After all, as that whining skank of a wife had explained to my father [assuming that he was a fucking idiot, or yes, redneck cop like her husband], “Both their three year old, as well as their eight year old girls learned how to swim in it”. However, neither I [as “Frog”], nor my father or mother wanted them to do this without our permission. Mind you, Dad had a point. After all, if one of their children happened to have drowned in our pool while we were not home, out family would be party to a huge lawsuit. That said, Dad put his foot down. Telling that son of a bitch cop next door, and his fucking uneducated, Tennessee Imbecile of a wife, “No! We are not going to share our property and definitely not our pool.” And so, soon the problems with our new neighbors had begun. Much the same as was back in Baldwin, before long, there was to be another “shootout” between the “Hatfield’s and McCoy’s”. From the local teenagers, including the Thompsons, our new neighbors on the other side, I’d soon learn the inevitable truth. We were next door neighbors with Sergeant David Lydem, the cop many teenagers often called “The Buford T. Justice of Newtown, Connecticut”. 18

On a lighter note here, soon we learned about Newtown’s local customs. Some of which were common to other communities in general. Others which, like the annual Labor Day Parade, were unique to Newtown, and only Newtown, Connecticut alone. Much like other towns in America, every year on Memorial Day, Baldwin [New York] had a Memorial Day Parade. Something which Newtown had several years before we got there in 1974, but had since done away with. In Newtown, we had Labor Day Parade. The big whoopee-doo of the town, every year on Labor Day Weekend, the parade signaled the unofficial end of summer in Connecticut. A time after which the town’s kids returned to school until late June.

Beginning on Johnny Cake Lane, a small cut-off road located along Mount Pleasant Road, halfway to the top of that hill and just past the Newtown Volunteer Ambulance Association, the parade route followed Newtown’s one and only Main Street. As it passed Edmond Town Hall and the infamous, towering toward the sky, one-hundred and twelve-foot tall flagpole, Newtown’s Citizens cheered it on. Clapping and yelling as the Striders Marching Band, farm tractors from both the Future Farmers of America [FFA] and Four-H Clubs, plus the Newtown High School Cheerleaders and Easton Banjo Society on that huge hay wagon, all marched down Main Street. Best of all were the Shriners from Bridgeport, Connecticut, the men driving around in circles in their miniature cars as the parade moved down Main Street. Onward they marched toward Route 302[Sugar Street] and Glover Avenue, at which time the parade route turned left onto Glover Avenue. A main road that soon curved to the left and became Queen Street; at which time the parade concluded at the Newtown Parade Marshall’s Stand. The judging stand which was set up in front of the Wheeler Shopping Center; near the [former] Connecticut National Bank and just past Newtown Middle School. Newtown Middle School being the public school I would soon attend. This for the first time since Mrs. Shelley had me expelled from Kindergarten, because of my “Shenanigans.”     

As for my own ‘neighborly relations’ with our new neighbors, “Buford T. Justice” and his white trash wife and family? 19 Well… two weeks later, I was down by Tom Brook, on OUR property, mind you. Cleaning up what I assumed was just trash left out in the woods. Having removed an old wooden milk crate, plus an old drinking glass with a cracked rim, and some old rusty beer cans, I loaded the crap into a wheelbarrow and hauled it off; dumping it all into the trash cans placed outside our garage. Little did I know that the crate and glass were part of his eight year old daughter’s “play fort?” Walking down into the woods she assumed were our “Shared woods” and finding that crate and glass missing, the little bitch ran home. Crying to her Tennessee Hillbilly mother, and police sergeant father, and yes, telling them that [I] “Broke her fort”. And yes, as if that alone wasn’t enough, literally, the little piece of shit told her father that I [as ‘Frog’] “Tried to rape her”. DISGUSTING!  A bloody fucking LIE at best! And yes, just to say this all began as soon as my family set the record straight, telling his idiot family that we DID NOT want to share our pool, and property, with them. Something the former family not only allowed, but actually encouraged.

In the meantime, the Thompsons, our new neighbors on the other side, had invited me for dinner. All of whom were far more intelligent than “Sergeant Porky Pig” and his moronic family. Besides Mr. and Ms. Thompson, their family consisted of their two teenage daughters, Natalie-who was majoring in English Literature at a private liberal arts college in Massachusetts, and Melissa- now in her junior year at Newtown High School. That and their two boys, John and James. One who was rather quiet, the other who acted tough but, at the time, seemed really cool to me. Naturally, I was later to learn that they all smoked pot; excluding John-the younger one. Excluding the eighth grader, James, all were highly artistic. Either they played some sort of musical instrument; or, like the youngest boy, had acted in the local theatre organization.

After all, Newtown was a very artistic town. That and a booming exurban area that was fast becoming the location of choice for many of Fairfield County’s corporate executives, most of whom worked either in Lower Fairfield and New Haven Counties, or in equally booming Westchester County, New York. Many famous residents lived in Newtown, as well as in surrounding towns such as Bethel, Redding, and Southbury. 20 Among Newtown’s well-known residents, those who called Newtown, Connecticut home at one time or another, is the late Alexander Scourby. A Bible Narrator and Playwright, Scourby and his wife lived in an Eighteenth-Century house along Albert’s Hill Road. The dirt road [at the time] one took to get to the Upper Paugusett State Forest and the state boat launch. That and the power station at the Shepaug Dam; the huge hydroelectric dam separating Lake Lillinonah from Lake Zoar. That and Director Elia Kazan. A movie director who, at the time, lived in Newtown’s Sandy Hook Section. Also living in Newtown at one time was Opera Star Grace Moore. Back in the 1930’s and 40’s, Moore lived in a gigantic white farmhouse. Situated along Mount Pleasant Road atop the hill of same name, her place overlooked Taunton Pond. Also to note here, Steven Kellogg, an author of many children’s books, also lived in Newtown, Connecticut for a while. 21 That and rumor had it that one of the guys from the 1960’s and early 1970’s rock band, Steppenwolf, had rented a summer house on Butterfield Road. A narrow road off Hanover Road which, at the time, became little more than a horse path between the east [Hanover], and west [Parmalee Hill Road] sections of the road. However, this may have simply been hearsay. Worthy of noting here, though. In either the spring, or summer of 1976, Steppenwolf actually did perform in concert at our Edmond Town Hall [minus their Lead Singer John Kay who refused to show up]. I shall discuss this more later. The point I’m trying to make here is this. While Baldwin, Long Island, New York had a few residents who achieved stardom, namely Dee Snider [Twisted Sister] and Taylor Dayne; Newtown, Connecticut was simply a magnet for famous artisans. This, I’m sure, because of its outstanding beauty and rural atmosphere; and yes, it’s reasonably close proximity to New York City."