From Chapter 3:  "My thoughts/imagination were on overload upon hearing this and I thought to myself "Can this be the same Raoul that I knew and lost in Pointe-A-Pierre?"  I decided then and there that there was only one thing that I could do.  I had to go to Campeche, Mexico!  For the first time in months, that night, as I staggered up Laurel Avenue, I knew I had found a purpose for my life...to find Raoul!"


The following morning after a sound night's rest and a day started out with a generous dollop of Tanqueray gin (a little hair of the dog) and a pot of coffee, I set out to make my plans a reality for the trip to Campeche.  the very first thing I did was to find a travel agent that would be able to put together the trip with all of its necessary details...flights, hotel bookings, etc.  After talking to a number of friends one particular travel agency was repeatedly recommended.  The travel agency was called "The Black Widow Agency."  The name of the agency should have been my first clue that something was amiss with this agency but in my rush to find Raoul all logic was cast aside.  The next clue that things may not be right with the travel agency was the name of the owner:  Conchita Lupe Sandoval Gomez Gutierrez Gonzalez Fernandez Sanchez Chang!

I called the agency for reservations on the first flight available to Campeche.  Conchita Lupe Sandoval Gomez Gutierrez Gonzalez Sanchez Chang answered the phone using her full name...but softened the impact of her name with the statement "just call me 'Guido Marie' because that is what all my friends call me."  This time my sixth sense tried to kick in and let me know that this travel agency and Guido Marie might not be quite what they were supposed to be.  However, I quelled my doubts and told Guido Marie about my plans and what I wanted by way of flights and timetables.  She said, "No problem Senor Juan, I will take care of everything for youse (you?)."  Little did I realized how all-inclusive that statement would be.  My flight was then booked on an airline called Air Noriega...and I was to be leaving at midnight the following night from the International Terminal, gate 62XB from LAX.  

Without knowing it, I was in the process of be set up with an organized crime ring involved in the smuggling of "squirrelus groundus Californius" (more commonly know as the California ground squirrel) into Mexico.  The purpose of this smuggling was so that these ground squirrels could be made into super burritos that would eventually make their way back into the United States to be sold at Taco Bell as well as to be distributed throughout Northern California by certain key distributors that were yet to be named.  More about that later...

The next night when I arrived at the LAX International Terminal, Gate 62XB, it was to my shock to discover that Air Noriega consisted of one (one only) converted B47 Bomber...and that was what was to fly me and whomever else into Campeche, Mexico.  It was to be piloted by two nefarious looking characters...you know the type...clean cut, razor cut hair cuts, smiles, friendly amiable attitude...which immediately put me on high alert.  The two pilots were called Senor Miguel and Senor Skippy.  Senor Skippy informed us that we were to call him "Captain Skippy."   I had never met such an unsavory pair in my life.  Once again, my otherwise sixth sense was awakening and telling me that all was not as it should be.  My sixth sense red-lined when I ultimately discovered that I was to be the only passenger on the plane...except for and none other than Guido Marie!  Guido Marie cast a benign smile in my direction but I was now ill at ease with this whole flight thing.  Several additional crates where also packed into the fuselage before we took off and I did my best to ignore what might be in them.  Then as the flight slowly became airborne, engines screaming, fuselage rocking from side to side, wings shuddering I really began to consider the seriousness of this situation.  Right then I knew I needed to find out what was in those crates.

So, in an attempt to divert Guido Marie, I pulled out my flask (Rodgers 1716 silver-plate) of Tanqueray gin and offered Guido Marie a generous dollop.  After feeding Guido Marie a couple of dollops of Tanqueray gin, I then suggested that the co-pilot (Senor Miguel) and Captain Skippy might want a generous dollop of Tangqueray gin as well...or perhaps a glass of white wine and a scotch and water since Captain Skippy seemed the scotch & water type of person.  My comment to Guido Marie as that libation would make the time pass quickly.  I served up the drinks and then asked Guido Marie to serve them to the crew.  With reluctance she left the cabin we were in and went to the cockpit.  The plane continue to rumble along in a clear midnight sky spotted with occasional clouds.

As soon as Guido Marie left the cabin, I quickly pried open the nearest create.  To my shock (total shock) I was greeted with by Whiskers and hundreds of his companions.  Whiskers let out an excited squeak when he saw me.  I quickly turned the crate over so all of the little squirrels (aka squirrelus groundus Californius) could escape and hide away in the plane.  I then filled the crate up with blankets enough to approximate the weight of hundreds of ground squirrels.

...to be continued...

Actually an "ode" is a poem so maybe instead this is a story of a friendship that began in 1963 and has lasted to this day.  One might wonder why a picture of a pizza is the leading picture of this story.

Well, yesterday when Troy and I were concluding our phone conversation he said "remember those pizzas we used to make?"  We could not remember the name.  However on my drive home it hit me that they were Chef Boy-R-Dee (sp?) pizzas...the kind that came in a box and you added hot water to the flour and yeast, when that was ready to be made into the crust you also added your toppings...in this case it was no more than pizza sauce (from the box) and Parmesan cheese (also from the box). Please remember that this was northern Wisconsin in the mid to late 60s so the options were not abundant.

However, those pizzas were delicious.  And Troy and I would devour each one with enthusiasm.  Now in 2013 and living in San Francisco it is hard to imagine a time when the closest pizza parlor was 35 miles away in a town called Rick Lake...the place was called "Drag's Pizza."  Which is still there I guess.  No, my gay friends it was not a drag queen bar but rather named I think for the Rice Lake Dragway Races.

Anyhow, I had called Troy a couple of days earlier to let him know I had posted a recipe from his mother (Daphne) to this website.  Particularly for me...as well as for him...it started a trip down memory lane,  Here is my remembrance of our friendship and its start.  We met in 1964 (maybe 1963) and were only 15 years old.  The friendship was immediate upon meeting.  It was like we communicated with each other in so many ways and on so many different levels.  Well, it had lead to a friendship that has lasted over 50 years.  We no longer call each other daily as we did back then and now the phone calls are usually at or around our birthdays and maybe at Christmas.  Yet, I can say even so that after all these years that whenever I pick up the phone and I hear Troy's voice I begin to smile and within moments of the conversation, I am laughing.

The following anonymous quote sums up true friendship:

"What is a friend?  I'll tell you.  It is a person with whom you dare to be yourself.  Your soul can go naked with him.  He seems to ask you to put on nothing, only to be what you really are.

"When you are with him, you do not have to be on guard.  You can say what you think, so long as it is genuinely you.

"He understands those contradictions in your nature that cause others to misjudge you.  With him you breathe freely - you can avow your little inanities and envies and absurdities, and in opening them up to him, they are dissolved in the white ocean of his loyalty.

"He understands.  You can weep with him, laugh with him, pray with him and through and underneath it all he sees, knows, and loves you."  ~ Anonymous

And...here is a small picture gallery:

From Chapter 2:  Hurricane Aye Yai Yai it's Conchita! lasted for another two days destroying much and what was left was severely damaged in the Lesser Antilles, Guadalupe island, and Pointe-A-Pierre in particular.  When I finally emerged from the safety of the bar at Hanna Mae's, reeking of several dollops and three days of Tanqueray gin, it was to find that the coconut palm from which I flew so bravely was gone.  The little vegetable garden was also destroyed...the radishes were ravaged, the tomatoes were splats on the side of the outside wall of the garden, and the lettuce leaves were indeed leaves...fallen fall leaves.  The veranda of Hanna Mae's had flown away to the quay by the ocean and was eventually to be used as a seating area for arriving passengers from cruise ships.

However, the with deep sadness over Raoul being missing and life being forever changed from blissful afternoons sipping generous dollops of Tanqueray gin...knowing that the life we had built was all gone...I had no choice but to either sit there and grieve or move.  There was no sign of Raoul or his boat anywhere.

And we lost our Tanqueray distributorship.


Chapter 3:  I was faced with a conundrum:  To rebuild or to go elsewhere and start all over again.  Life without Raoul did not seem worthwhile and, you see, at this point my resume only reflected the experience of exotic dancing at Charlie's Turf Club.  I was not sure of how to include the joint management of Hanna Mae's (which had the largest Tanqueray volume discount of anywhere in the Lesser Antilles).  In a moment of weakness I decided to move to southern California.  The decision made sense to me.  So I sold Hanna Mae's for a good profit, packed my bags and caught the first fishing boat leaving Pointe-A-Prince.

Southern California was my chance to start over!  Here, I thought, I would stay...not realizing the future had other plans for me.  As is so often with life, we make plans and then life happens.  So was the case here with fate decreeing a future different than my mere plans.  Unaware of what was going to happen, I bought a two bedroom condo on Laurel Avenue and it was one mere block from Santa Monica Boulevard which was the thriving heart of West Hollywood (aka Boys-town).  The condo was lovely with large rooms, a good kitchen, views that nestled into the palm trees where squirrels and birds played.  The condo complex also included a good sized swimming pool that was perfect for lazy morning sipping coffee (gin?) and tanning.  One might say that I had gone into an early retirement.

Those days were a simple but wonderful existence.  The days began with leisurely breakfast on the patio, eventual retirement to the pool area to lounge in the sun with a plastic cocktail glass filled with a generous dollop of Tanqueray gin and two cube of ice (yes, plastic because the crystal old fashion glasses were not allowed by the pool).

Mid-afternoon would be nap time, early evening would be dinner time, and then I would go to a small quiet club on Santa Monica Blvd. called Rafters and have "one" or more.  The handsome bartenders soon grew to know me so the dollops of Tanqueray gin into my cocktail were very generous dollops.  I tipped well.

Some evenings I would go walking in a small park that was nearby...and it was here that I first became acquainted with the California ground squirrel...its Latin derivative being "Groundus Squirrelis Californius."  i became friends with one that I eventually named "Whiskers."  But more about that later.

One evening as I was sitting on my bar stool at Rafters I happened to overhear a conversation between two men that were standing a short distance from me.  Apparently they had just returned from an extended trip to Mexico.  As I listened to the conversation, I learned that they had visited a number of areas off of the "beaten track" in order to get an understanding of the "real Mexico."  They had been in a number of remote villages along the coast of the Yucatan Peninsula.  My interest in their conversation was immediately heightened when I heard one of them say to the other "Do you remember the man named "Juan" that had been washed ashore along with his boat right after Hurricane Aye Yai Yai it's Conchita!?

Rest assured that got my attention and I began to listen more closely to their conversation.  The story they were discussing was about how a man had survived the hurricane and had landed ashore along with his wrecked fishing boat.  He had almost drowned but had recovered except that he suffered terrible amnesia and could remember little from his past.  There were only a few things that he remembered and could recall...one was the name "Hanna Mae."  The guys discussing this were wondering if "Hanna Mae" were an ex-lover.  My heart quickened.  They went on to surmise if "Hanna Mae" might be his mother?  Sister? Friend?  It was all a mystery.

Apparently this man thought that his name was Juan!!!  After he recovered his health, he had opened a small inn right on the coast just outside of Campeche.  He called his inn "The Morocco" because for some reason it had a special feeling for him.

In addition, the bar at the Inn specialized in drinks made with Tanqueray gin!

My thoughts/imagination were on overload upon hearing this and I thought to myself "Can this be the same Raoul that I knew and lost in Pointe-A-Pierre?"  I decided then and there that there was only one thing that I could do.  I had to go to Campeche, Mexico!  For the first time in months, that night, as I staggered up Laurel Avenue, I knew I had found a purpose for my life...to find Raoul!

...to be continued

He has put on invisibility.
Dear Lord, I cannot see--
But this I know, although the road
    ascends
And passes from my sight,
That there will be no night;
That You will take him gently by the
    hand
And lead him on
Along the road of life that never ends,
And he will find it is not death but
    dawn.
I do not doubt that You are there as
    here,
And You will hold him dear.

Our life did not begin with birth,
It is not of the earth;
And this that we call death, it is no
    more
Than the opening and closing of a
    door--
And in Your house how many rooms
    must be
Beyond this one where we rest
    momently.

Dear Lord, I thank You for the faith
    that frees,
The love that knows it cannot lose its
    own;
The love that, looking through the
    shadows, sees
That You and he and I are ever one!


The Traveler 
(female version)
By James Dillet Freeman


She has put on invisibility.
Dear Lord, I cannot see--
But this I know, although the road 
    ascends
And passes from my sight,
That there will be no night;
That You will take her gently by the 
    hand
And lead her on
Along the road of life that never ends,
And she will find it is not death but 
    dawn.
I do not doubt that You are there as 
    here,
And You will hold her dear.

Our life did not begin with birth,
It is not of the earth;
And this that we call death, it is no 
    more
Than the opening and closing of a 
    door--
And in Your house how many rooms 
    must be
Beyond this one where we rest 
    momently.

Dear Lord, I thank You for the faith 
    that frees,
The love that knows it cannot lose its 
    own;
The love that, looking through the 
    shadows, sees
That You and she and I are ever one!

In the 13th century (his years were 1207 to 1273) lived a mystic (he was a Sufi) poet now referred to as Rumi.  Here is one of his poems:

A Moment of Happiness


A moment of happiness,
you and I sitting on the verandah,
apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.
We feel the flowing water of life here,
you and I, with the garden's beauty
and the birds singing.
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together,
indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.
The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar
as we laugh together, you and I.
In one form upon this earth,
and in another form in a timeless sweet land. 

SleepSleep pulls me down
Begging me to place my head upon the pillow
To sink to her warm embrace
To let me dream
And not make me wake
But I have to stay awake

Sleep plays soothing music in my ears
Wanting to pull the covers up
To give in to my drooping eyelids
To leave my worries for tomorrow
And sleep for awhile
But I’ve got things to do

Sleep invites me to my quiet room
Coaxing me to my warm bed
To turn out the light
To let me sleep
And not to care anymore
But I must stay awake

Sleep knows I’m giving in
Smiling as I lay down
To keep me warm
To hold me tight
And give me dreams
I cannot fight 



~Tsunami HiroshiSu

From Chapter 1:  Then September of 1989 arrived.  It was hurricane season in the Lesser Antilles.  The days, for awhile, passed by peacefully enough.  But those days were soon to be over.  Little did we know, in our happy bliss, that somewhere over the Atlantic a topical depression had formed that was to be called "Hurricane Aye Yai Yai it's Conchita!"  The days of sun, surf, and Tanqueray would soon be over, and they would end with Hurricane Aye Yai Yai it's Conchita! and Raoul and I would be separating in a most desperate and unusual manner.


Chapter 2:  In spite of dire hurricane warnings that Hurricane Aye Yai Yai it's Conchita! was heading for Pointe-A-Pierre on Guadalupe Island in the Lesser Antilles, Raoul went fishing one afternoon so that we could replenish our fresh fish supply for the "catch of the day" on the restaurant's (Hanna Mae's) menu for the evening dinner crowd.  While Raoul was out fishing, I went to the small garden behind the restaurant to gather vegetables for the salads that would accompany all the entrees as well as the "catch-of-the-day".  In the distance, from where I stood, I could see Raoul's boat getting smaller and smaller on the horizon until it finally disappeared from sight.  While in the midst of plucking radishes from the soil, snipping lettuce leaves, and plucking tomatoes I was completely unaware the weather was starting to change.

Suddenly I realized the sun had disappeared and the sky was getting dark and glanced up and saw ominous clouds rushing in from the south east.  The wind which had been gently rustling the palms and the oleander leaves suddenly turned harsh and began to howl...the palms nearly bent double, the oleanders shuddered, and the other flora looked as if it wanted to take flight.

I thought to myself "Oh my God it's Hurricane Aye Yai Yai it's Conchita!" and then desperately realized that Raoul was far out to sea by himself.  My immediate thought was that if I could signal him of the changing weather, it still might be possible for him to return to shore.

So as the hurricane force winds of Hurricane Aye Yai Yai it's Conchita! began to bear down upon Pointe-A-Pierre and Guadalupe Island, I scanned the area for something high enough from which I could hopefully signal Raoul.  The tallest thing I could find was the large coconut palm that was next to the veranda of Hanna Mae's.  I quickly clambered up its slippery sides and made it to the top with a fuchsia tablecloth in hand.  It was my hope that I could flap it around and Raoul would see it and know to come to shore.  In desperation I thought I glimpsed Raoul and his boat.  Alas!  Just as I got to the fronds at the top of the tree, the first rain squall blew in and I lost sight of Raoul.  As the power of the wind increased, my position at the top of the coconut palm grew more perilous.  In fact I was hanging on for dear life wondering how I would ever get to the ground because by then my body was outstretched from the coconut palm like a Moroccan Dervish flag flying wildly in the wind.  The situation grew more critical as I began to lose my grip in the wild winds and my body dervished in the wind and I was barely hanging by one hand onto one of the palm fronds at the top of the tree.

My body continued to be whipped around in the wind as if were nothing more than that damn Morracan Dervish flag.  My grip finally began to weaken and loosen and I knew that my life was gravely imperiled.  With a banshee-like wail I finally released my hold from the palm frond and flew threw the air as if I were dervishing except that was not on a stage but wind-driven free form!  I longed to be wearing my red leotards and black, gray and green sequined cape in my macabre airborne dance!  It seemed as if I flew through the air forever only to fall face first into the neighbor's  oleander bushes.  The bushes and shrubs broke my fall and as I staggered out of the bushes spitting bits of leaves and bits of flowers there was nothing else to do but head for the safety of Hanna Mae's.

By the time I was able to close and bolt the door behind me as well as secure the window shutters, the winds and rain of Hurricane Aye Yai Yai it's Conchita had completely obliterated the view, the building was shuddering, the roof was creaking and I was in complete despair over Raoul's safety.  In my wet and wind shredded clothes I stumbled to the bar, got out my favorite crystal old fashion glass and poured myself a generous dollop of Tanqueray gin, added two iced cubes, and sat down to review the criticalness of the situation.  In spite of several dollops of Tanqueray gin, I grew more depressed with the realization that I would not see my precious Raoul...my gilded cage rescuer...ever again.

In my sadness I lingered upon the memories of his big brown eyes, his thick and long eyelashes, his wicked  smile that danced around the corners of his mouth...and also thought about his very cute (well that part is a whole 'nother story).

Hurricane Aye Yai Yai it's Conchita! lasted for another two days destroying much and what was left was severely damaged in the Lesser Antilles, Guadalupe island, and Pointe-A-Pierre in particular.  When I finally emerged from the safety of the bar at Hanna Mae's, reeking of several dollops and three days of Tanqueray gin, it was to find that the coconut palm from which I flew so bravely was gone.  The little vegetable garden was also destroyed...the radishes were ravaged, the tomatoes were splats on the side of the outside wall of the garden, and the lettuce leaves were indeed leaves...fallen fall leaves.  The veranda of Hanna Mae's had flown away to the quay by the ocean and was eventually to be used as a seating area for arriving passengers from cruise ships.

However, the with deep sadness over Raoul being missing and life being forever changed from blissful afternoons sipping generous dollops of Tanqueray gin...knowing that the life we had built was all gone...I had no choice but to either sit there and grieve or move.  There was no sign of Raoul or his boat anywhere.

And we lost our Tanqueray distributorship.

...to be continued.

Actually I was born four years after his death so the wisdom of the world would tell me that I never knew him.  However, as a child I distinctly remembered him and would shock my mother when I talked about him.  She would tell me "no that is not possible"...but yet I was sure I knew him.  Interesting, eh?  Here is a blurb about him and although the photograph is a touch blurry...just maybe you can see him with his birthday cake:

Years ago I was working at this great company called Nellcor and during my eight or nine years of working there I made friends that are friends to this day...such as Skip Duncan.  It was perhaps the best place I have ever worked in my life in that it treated its employees with total respect and expected each and every employee to have a value driven home life as well as a value driven work life.  The HR Director was named Francine and she taught all of us great lessons on management, meeting protocol...you name it.  Ok, I digress...but it was also a very creative crowd that I worked with and one year we all did a series of short stories that we were going to tie together into one big story...each part of the big story being told from our own perspective.  In going through some of my old paperwork I found that I still have parts of that project and here is my version of Raoul and John which was called "The True Story":