The Four Bullies of Denkmann School

Denkmann Elementary School in Rock Island had four doors, on the north, south, east, and west sides.  There was no rule saying that you had to enter by a certain door, so I always went in through the north door, closest to my house.

I always left through the north door, also, unless I was planning to play with a friend who lived in another direction,or I had a chore there.

Each door had its own peril, a Mean Boy who stalked it out, searching for prey.

1. West Door:  The way to 38th Street, the main busy street of Rock Island, with Schneider's Drug Store where you could buy comic books.  My friend Greg lived in that direction, too.  The Mean Boy was the Killer (top photo), a belligerent blond who took every action as an insult requiring you to fight him, either right on the spot or after school.  He fought by biting, kicking, and punching anything he could find, while the grownups looked on and said "Nobody likes a tattletale."

I don't remember the Killer in junior high.  Maybe he moved, or maybe he exploded in a burst of rage.  But recently, looking at all of the rosters of nearby prisons and mental asylums, I managed to find him.

He's a Distinguished Professor of New Testament Studies at a fundamentalist seminary, author of several books on why the Bible is literally true. His wife studied missiology at a Baptist seminary.

No doubt if I come out to him, he'll start biting, punching, and kicking me again.

2. South Door: Actually the main door of the school, opening onto the ritzy South Side neighborhood.  The only reason to go that way was to stop at Dewey's Candy Store.  The Mean Boy was Dick, very tall, with broad shoulders, big hands and an enormous penis (as I found out later).  He yelled out humiliating names:  "Wimp!  Dork!  Fairy!", and the worst possible insult, "Girl!"  ad its own perils, in the form of Mean Boys.

After we grew up, Dick and I reconnected.  He turned out to be gay.  The insults?  Well, you know, boys only tease you because they like you.

We stayed friends, sharing hookups and lovers, for about 20 years.

3. East Door: A few blocks to Moline, the next town over.  Joel lived in that direction, and if you went further, Country Time Ice Cream.  Its Mean Boy was Duane, tall, dark, and swarthy, with a preference for bicycle shorts.  He would extort money out of you: "Lend me a nickel...lend me a dime..."

Sometimes he stole other things: pens, caps, textbooks (to throw them in the mud), your lunch (or he'd chew on it, say "Ok, I'll give it back," and deposit it back on your plate).

His most expensive theft was my watch:  "That's a nice watch...let me look at it,"  Of course, it went straight into his pocket, and when I asked for it back, "You never gave me any watch!"

I found Duane on Facebook.  His photos include an inordinate number of Confederate flags and MAGA caps.  The guy on the left is reputedly his son at an..um...event.

4. North Door.  It was the back end of the school, not heavily patroled and so the site of all deviant and illegal acts: fights, smoking cigarettes, reading comic books, boy-girl kissing, bullying.  No one Mean Boy took precedence: several roamed about.  Fortunately, home was just across the schoolyard, so I could avoid any confrontation by running fast.  I only remember one major incident:

Bruce was very tall, then, and ugly.  He used to write on his hand, which I found disgusting.  He specialized in sexual bullying.  He would approach his target and say "Lemme see your dick," or else skip the request and just grab.

Today that would be a warning sign that Bruce had serious emotional problems, but in the 1970s no one thought anything of it: "Just innocent play.  Boys are naturally curious."

I usually ran away when he approached, but once in the fifth grade, he cornered me by some rain puddles.  "Lemme see your dick!" he ordered.  When I didn't respond, he reached out and groped me.  To get even, I reached out and groped him (sorry, I don't remember what it felt like,but we were both 10 years old, so it can't have been very impressive).

Apparently no one had ever turned the tables on Bruce before.  He got a weird dazed expression and ran off.

I just found Bruce on facebook.  Wife, kids, grandson, the hetero works.

Dick Sargent's Three Way with Pat Boone

West Hollywood, March 2003

Conservative superstar Pat Boone, the World's #1 homophobe, had a three-way with Darrin of Bewitched?

I'm back in West Hollywood for a post-Oscar party thrown by Lane and his roommate Randall, 62 years old, but still a hot muscle bear with a pierced penis and a coterie of leather bear, cub, and otter friends.

The conversation moves inevitably toward celebrity hookups, and Randall begins telling the story of how, as an 18 year old in 1958, his friend Dick Sargent (who would star in Bewitched in the 1960s) took him to a gay party in Beverly Hills, where they hooked up with Groucho Marx and Cary Grant.  On the same night, in the same bed.

He's at the part where he and Dick are sitting in a parked car, making out and discussing who's gay in Hollywood.  Sal Mineo.  James Dean.  "Pat Boone. I haven't actually been with him, but I've watched him in action."

"Wait, wait, wait!" someone exclaims.  "Pat Boone is a total homophobe.  He writes books on how to 'be saved from the dangerous homosexual lifestyle.'  Are you trying to tell us that he's gay?"

"According to Dick, he's straight, but open to 'fooling around' with guys," Randall says.  "They had a three-way with a teenage fan while they were working on a  movie together."

Hollywood, March 1957

Bernardine, filming at 20th-Century Fox in the spring of 1957, was a frothy comedy about three high school boys who enter a fictional woman's name into a contest. Hilarity and romance ensue.  The big draw would be Pat Boone, a 22-year old teen idol with a string of hits:  "Ain't That a Shame," "Long Tall Sally," "Love Letters in the Sand, "April Love."  This was his first acting job.  

Costar Dick Sargent was 26 years old, with two years of acting under his belt, including a starring role in the tv series West Point, so he became a sort of mentor to the young star.  After work Pat often invited him home for dinner with his wife and three young daughters.  He became like one of the family.

One night when they were alone in the living room -- Shirley was off putting the girls to bed -- Dick did something that you never did in the 1950s: he came out!

"Today he would be setting himself up for screaming and Bible thumping!" I exclaim.  "It must have been much worse in the 1950s!"

"Actually," Randall says,  "The conservative Christians hadn't discovered us yet.  Back then they were screaming mostly about divorce and premarital hetero-sex.  Everybody hated queers, of course, but Dick was tall and studly, a graduate of military academy, not a queer queer, if you know what I mean. 

"I don't really like girls," Dick told Pat.  "I dig boys.  In fact, I've been in bed with one of our costars -- I can't tell you who, of course."

"I hear you, Daddy-o," the teen idol responded.  "Who doesn't dig boys?  I mean, I would never dream of cheating on Shirley, but it's not cheating when it's with a dude, reet?"  And I'll tell you a secret --"  he leaned in conspiratorily.  "When I sing 'Love Letters in the Sand,' it's not just bobby-soxers who moan and sigh and send me their phone numbers."

Dick was intrigued, and more than a little interested in the handsome Pat Boone, so he agreed to "fool around" with one of his regular "playmates," a teenage fan named Gerry.

After work a few days later, they drove up to Van Nuys, to one of those cheap hotels where the rooms have private entrances.  Pat waited in the car while Dick paid.  Inside, Pat made a phone call, and after about half an hour, Gerry arrived.

He was in his late teens, shorter than Dick, with brown curly hair, dark eyes, pouting lips, and a full, hard physique -- what they used to call "well knit."

After shaking hands with them both, he sat on the bed and began fondling himself through his chinos.  No preliminaries!

Shocked, Dick said "Shouldn't we kiss or fondle a bit first?"

Gerry frowned.  "You think this is a Sweet Sixteen Party, Howdy Doody?"

"No, but..., I like the way a dude looks and feels.  It's not just about the act itself."  He turned to Pat for validation, but Pat had already pulled out his own average-sized penis.

"I agree with the kid," he said, fondling himself to full arousal. "Hearts and flowers for the ladies, cocks and balls when it's just us cool cats."  He walked over to the bed. Gerry started going down on him.

Sighing, Dick lay on the bed, pulled out Gerry's impressive Kielbasa, and went down on him.  Gerry stayed aroused but didn't moan or say anything.

Dick pulled Gerry's shirt up to feel his hard chest and squeeze his nipples, but the kid  still didn't react.

After a few minutes, Gerry got on his knees, pulled out Dick's Bratwurst, and went to work.  That's what it seemed like -- doing a job.

Dick leaned over and tried to pull Pat close enough to go down on, but got shooed away.  "You can't fool around with your friends," Pat murmured, fondling himself.

Who else can you fool around with?

He and Gerry moved into the 69 position, still mostly clothed.  Gerry worked vigorously and enthusiastically, but still, Dick had trouble staying aroused.  He wanted Gerry's arms around him.  He wanted kissing.  He wanted the sight, touch, taste of the masculine!

Gerry finished soundlessly, with a gigantic spurt -- two mouthsful! -- and then turned his attention back to Pat, who continued to stand, continued to be fully clothed.  Dick stood and fondled his butt and tried to nuzzle his neck, but got shooed away.  Finally he sat down and beat off while watching Gerry bring Pat to orgasm.

Then Pat gave Gerry a dollar and sent him home, and they drove home, too.

They stayed friends, but when Pat suggested that they hook up with other boy fans, Dick refused.  He didn't like just fooling around with guys.  He wanted touching and kissing and fondling.  He wanted dating and romance.  He was a queer queer.

Was Dick telling the truth?

I got this story third hand, and it took place nearly sixty years ago, so it's impossible to determine what actually happened and what was embellished at some point along the way -- or made up altogether.  Today Pat Boone makes frequent homophobic statements, but who can say what he was thinking at the age of 22?  Maybe he really did think that "fooling around" with guys was fine, as long as you returned to your wife's bed at the end of the day.

After all, he was enough of a libertine to have someone photograph his penis in a box.

See also: Dick Sargent, Groucho Marx, and Cary Grant in the Same Bed; and Pat Boone, Teenage Heartthrob

Why Do Gay Men Have Sex So Often?

Heterosexual couples be like: We haven't had sex for a couple of weeks.  Let's try to make time for it tonight.

Gay male couples be like:  We only had sex twice today.  Is something wrong?

As far as I can tell, gay men have sex a lot more often than heterosexual men.  When you're heterosexual, you look forward to the weekend. When you're gay...well, when was the last time put your head to pillow without having a cock down your throat first?  When was the last time you didn't have an orgasm before breakfast?  Plus there's sex during dates and hookups, parties devoted to sex, business establishments designed to give you access to many partners.

Straight men feel like Don Juans if they've had six partnrs in the last year.  Gay men feel deprived if they've had only six partners this week.

There are three theories about why gay men do it more often than straight men.

The first is homophobic:  they are sexually compulsive, addicted to sex with whatever partners they can find, willing or unwilling.

The second is sociological:  women are socialized to believe that sex is "love making," an expression of deep emotional commitment that should only occur on special occasions.  Men are socialized to believe that sex is a form of recreation.  When men want to have sex with women, they are constrained by the "only on special occasions" thing, but two men together can do it as often as they want, basically whenever they're not doing something else.

There may be some truth to #2.  Lesbian couples be like: we had sex once, a couple of years ago.  Who knows?  We may do it again sometime.

But I favor the historical theory:   we grew up hearing, incessantly, that same-sex desire does not and cannot exist, that it is beyond the boundaries of what can be imagined, that men can only ever desire women.  We still hear it every day, in "she's every man's fantasy" and "when a man loves a woman" and "there's a girl for every boy"  and "a man without a woman is nothing at all." So, even 40 years after coming out, whenever we experience same-sex desire, it's startingly fresh and new.

Every time we feel joy at the sight of a masculine face or chest or cock, it's like the only time in history that a boy has liked a boy.