Boys and girls, but not together...me and Mamie O'Rorke
From living most of my life in New York City, and eight years in the Navy, I know that the stereotypes about gays and lesbians are not true.
Yes, I've met up with my share of stereotypical gay men and lesbian women, guys who were delighted to do the dishes and clean up after dinner, and women who were physically tougher (with deeper voices) than most of the male Marines I knew.
I also knew gays and lesbians who fit no stereotypes. In high school, I once asked out a girl who said she'd be delighted to go out with me...to a lesbian rights rally. I thought she was giving me the ultimate heave-ho, but sure enough, she soon turned up at school leading the gay and lesbian club, wearing a button that read, "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle." She sought to raise my consciousness. I wanted her to raise other things. We stayed friends, united by baseball.
At the same time, a group of 13-year-olds was running around the West Village, stomping gays and persons they presumed to be gay. I was one of the latter, and one of their victims. They were busy proving to the world that they were not gay, but could not do so by simply dating girls, as that was "sissy" or "unmanly." They proved they were straight by beating up suspected gays.
Their reign of terror ran around the Village, as they chose gays who could not fight back. Their mistake was to jump a pair of gay men who were into leather, weights, body-building, and big muscles. The two gays promptly beat the living tar out of the entire gang. When the gang leader saw his boys being turned to hamburger, he ran as fast as his legs could take him back to mommy, leaving his buddies there to die gloriously for their alleged tradition. That was the end of that gang.
Another group that bashed suspect gays regularly was led by a rought, tough macho chap with the same theory: don't date girls, just beat up suspects. However, this group's other hobby was a form of competitive self-pleasuring in the boys' room at school, which I discovered by mistake one day when I went to use the john. The guys pulled up their pants and told me in no uncertain terms to forget what I saw. I didn't even understand what I saw, but I developed constipation for the next two years.
A year after that, I was walking past the church across the street from our apartment, which was used by the gay community for events, carrying the groceries, when I heard my name called out. Slowly I turned. There was the leading gay-basher of this second group, now looking more "metrosexual," with his boyfriend. They were about to attend an event at the church. They had discovered their "true selves."
"Would you like to come in," the former gay-basher cooed. "We really liked you."
I backed off, shaking my head. Suddenly I understood why I had seen this guy beating up gays, never with a girl, and with his pants down. The biggest gay-basher of the school was covering up the biggest secret in school.
Life is complex, and that's why conspiracy theories are popular...they make a complex, random, bizarre, and difficult-to-explain world rational, comprehensible, and simple -- while divesting the theorist of responsibility and accountability for his own works.
