Stranded on the Island of Dogs

London, June 1993

Sorry if you love London, or call it home.  I'm not a big fan, in spite of the architectural marvels and the 15 Public Penises.  I always get lost.  It's cold.  The streets are all dirty.  Everyone is rude all the time;  I've never seen anyone in London ever smile.  And the food's not great.

June 1993: My partner Lane was a delegate to the World Congress of GLBT Jews, to be held in London!  He invited me along as his guest.

This isn't him.  I have lots of pictures, but I'm too lazy to scan them.  But he was a husky, hairy bear with nice arms, like this guy.

I had been to Colombia, Japan, Australia, Turkey, and India, and he had been to Israel and Bermuda, but for some reason neither of us had ever been to Britain before, except to the airport.  So we planned lots of sightseeing: The Tower of London, the Sherlock Holmes Museum, Stonehenge, The Rude Man of Cerne Abbas, Canterbury Cathedral.  Not to mention the Gay Village of Soho.

1. The problems started from the moment I arrived.  At customs I was questioned extensively about my reasons for coming to Britain, who I was staying with, did I know anyone there, and again why was I there?????.

The customs agents simply could not believe that anyone would come to their country as a tourist.  They had never heard of such a thing.  There was nothing in Britain that could possibly be of any interest to outsiders!   Obviously I was a terrorist.


2. If you were planning a World Congress with delegates from all over the world, most of whom have never been to Britain before, wouldn't you pick a hotel that was centrally located?

Nope: The Royal Britannia Hotel was on the Isle of Dogs, an industrial sleugh on the East End of London, surrounded by the Thames on three sides.  No subway.  You could catch a bus into town -- about 6 miles to the Tower of London -- but it stopped at different places, depending on the whim of the driver, anywhere between six and twelve blocks from the hotel.

It stopped wherever the driver wanted.  So you were standing at a bus stop, and it would drive past you and stop two blocks away.

3. And it stopped running at 6:00 pm, and it didn't run on Sunday.

So I spent all day Thursday and Friday chasing after a bus and getting lost trying to find my way back.

4. As a guest, I was not allowed to go to any of the meetings, or any of the dinners, so I was stuck at the hotel's restaurant.

On Thursday night, there was an evening boat tour of the Thames, with box dinner provided.  Except for guests.  I stole one to avoid starving to death.

Saturday was the Sabbath, so not much going on. We went sightseeing, got lost on the way back, and had dinner at the hotel.

5. The Conference hosted a dance that evening (the Sabbath is over at sundown), but as a guest, I wasn't allowed to attend.  I spent the night watching television.

6. On Sunday we walked the six miles into town, but by the time we got there, we were too tired for sightseeing.  We returned to discover that the hotel restaurant was closed on Sunday.  And there's no pizza delivery to the Isle of Dogs.  Lane could go to the Conference dinner, but I couldn't.

I would have starved to death again, but someone with a car drove into town and brought me (and the other guests) some fish and chips.

Is this any way to run a gay Jewish conference?

On Monday the conference was over, thank God, so Lee and I spent a few days in Oxford, Stonehenge, Cerne Abbas, Bath, Canterbury, and York.

7. In Oxford, the shops that were supposed to be open were closed as the owner decided to "pop out."

8. In Bath, we stayed at a gay B&B, where in the lounge an old movie was playing.  I thought I recognized the actress, so I said "Is that Marilyn Monroe?"

"Of course it is, you twat!  What kind of faggot doesn't recognize Marilyn Monroe?"

"Um...the kind who is not interested in women?"

9. We couldn't tell which train was leaving for York.  There were two, on two tracks, with no signs.  So we asked someone.  And he deliberately directed us to the wrong train.

10. In York, we stayed in a straight B&B, where they absolutely would not believe that we wanted a room with one bed.  "Oh, no, duckie, there's been some mistake.  We'll fix it right away!"

I've been to Britain two or three more times since 1993.  Always nothing but problems, impossible rules, buses that go where they want, and incessantly rude poeple,  especially in London.  Give me Paris, or Amsterdam.  Or Osaka.  Or Irkutsk.

The Boyfriend of William the Conquerer

My ancestor was the boyfriend of William the Conqueror

Every schoolkid learns about the Battle of Hastings in 1066, when William, Duke of Normandy, defeated the English and became William I (Guillaume le Conquérant).  It was a pivotal moment in world history.

That's why over 30% of the words in the English language derive from French, often more elegant equivalents to Anglo-Saxon terms:

Ask/Demand
House/Mansion
Kitchen/Cuisine
Cook/Chef

William was born in 1028, the bastard son of Robert I, Duke of Normandy.  When he ascended to the throne in 1035, his youth and illegitimacy caused a great deal of dissent.  Various nobles sought to control the boy by becoming his guardian.  The first three were all murdered, one while in William's bedroom.

Other nobles tried to kill the young William and take over the throne.  On more than one occasion he had to flee the castle at Falaise and hide in the homes of his supporters.

I

In 1046, an army led by Guy of Burgundy stormed Falaise, and 18-year old William had to flee to England, where he stayed with Henry I.

He tried to return secretly in 1047, but shortly after he came ashore at Caen, he was accosted by an armed band, and almost killed.

He was rescued by Ralph (Ranulphus de Praers), the 18-year old son of Baron Hubert de Rie (1005-1086), who took him to his father's castle in Rie (or Rye).  Ralph and his two brothers, Hubert and Adam, then escorted William to Falaise, about 45 miles away.

Ralph remained William's constant companion for the next twenty years, as he consolidated his power and forced the dissenting dukes into exile.

In 1066, King Edward the Confessor of England died without an heir, leading to a power struggle between English, French, and Norwegian claimants.  King Harold defeated his brother Tostig Godwinson and the Norwegian King Harald Hadrada, but was weakened sufficiently to allow William and his allies to storm into England and take over.

Yeah, it wasn't really the "freedom from tyranny!" thing that we prefer in our heroes.

After the Battle of Hastings, Ralph and his brothers received lands in Nottingham, Derby, Norfolk, Suffolk, and Kent constituting about 5% of all Anglo-Saxon England.

Ralph was so loyal to William that he didn't marry until about 1080, when he was 58 years old, quite elderly for the Middle Ages.

His descendants were the De Praers.  About 1450, they started calling themselves Praters.  Thomas Prater moved to Virginia in 1622.  His descendants moved to Maryland, then Kentucky, then Indiana, where I was born in 1960.

My Grandpa Prater was descended from the boyfriend of William the Conqueror.

So, were they actually lovers?

It's impossible to say.  They were lifelong friends.  Harold gave him a ridiculously large share of the conquest.  He didn't marry until he was an old man.  But any more intimate relationship is lost to history.

The Castle Rie or Rye is lost, too, although the town of Ryes, population 500, is still there.  It's only a 15 minute drive from the Musée de la Tapisserie in Bayeux.

And a 30 minute drive from the Sauna Arc en Ciel in Caen.

Derek the Fitness Model's Date with David Cassidy

West Hollywood, June 1989

It's my third date with Lane, the date you traditionally introduce him to your friends, so we're having dinner at my house with Raul, Will, my Celebrity ex-boyfriend, Fred and Matt...and my housemate Derek?

Derek and I are not close.  We don't eat meals together, we rarely share each other's dates.  We are invited to each other's parties by default, but we rarely attend.

So why is he here?

I'm worried that the former fitness model with the baseball bat between his legs will steal my new boyfriend before we even have a chance to seal the deal.  It's happened before.

I serve barbecued chicken, baked potatoes, "roshineers," and tomatoes.  Lane brings a salad, and Derek furnishes the desert.

After dinner we start talking about childhood crushes -- tv and movie stars you found dreamy, back in the day: Luke Halpin of Flipper,  Desi Arnaz Jr.,  Barry Williams of The Brady Bunch.  

Derek keeps silent.  He's substantially older than the rest of us, so he probably doesn't want to call attention to his age by mentioning Ricky Nelson or...or Frank Sinatra.

Then someone mentions David Cassidy, the androgynous star of The Partridge Family, who had a string of hits in the early 1970s: "I Think I Love You," "I Woke Up in Love this Morning,"

"Incredibly hot!" Will exclaims.  "Those eyes!  That voice!"

"And so fey," Lane says.  "It's obvious he's one of us."

We all nod in agreement.

"He's bi," Derek says suddenly.  "But mostly into girls.  Guys once in a blue moon.  Pity...he's got a face that can break your heart."

"Do you...um...have firsthand knowledge of this bi thing?"  I ask.

Hollywood, Fall 1973

Derek was 26 years old, an amateur bodybuilder, newly out, divorced from his wife Ellen, and exploring the gay world.  He was trying to make a living as a fitness model -- magazine ads, semi-nude photos in "physique magazines," and nude photos in gay magazines like In Touch and Blue Boy. He supplemented his income with gigs as a bodyguard, bouncer, and...well, paid escort.

One night his friend Panther (Jim at the time) arranged a "date" for him: "He saw you in In Touch, and wanted a better look.  He's a big star, really big, so everything has to be on the hush-hush."

Curious, Derek drove to the house in the San Fernando Valley, and got buzzed in -- by David Cassidy!

They sat in the living room, drinking wine coolers.  The most famous pop star in the world seemed rather star-struck by Derek.  He wanted to know about his workout routine, his diet.  They talked about the gay world, the bars, discos, bath houses -- David was shocked that such things existed. They were so busy talking that three hours passed before they even thought of going into the bedroom.

What they did when they got there is private, but it was amazing.  Afterwards they cuddled and talked all night. David was smooth, androgynous, rather well hung, exactly Derek's type.  He was hooked.

David had a heavy touring schedule -- and he liked girls, a lot -- so he didn't have much time for Derek.  They got together maybe once a month.

That wasn't enough.  Derek wanted a full-time lover.  He wanted to move in with David, to stand next to him as the papparazi swarmed, to spend every night kissing and talking softly in that king-sized bed with the black silk sheets.

"Sort of like the millions of teenage girls who wrote 'Mrs. David Cassidy' in their school notebooks," Fred notes.

Finally one day in May, Derek put his foot down.

"I need more time," he said.  "I understand that you're the idol of every teenage girl in the world, but I'm here, now.  We should go out, do something together, have a real date."

David thought for a moment.  "Well...I have a concert in Glasgow next Friday, and then I don't have to be in London until Sunday afternoon.  I can bring you along as...say, my new bodyguard?"

A romantic weekend in Britain with the man of his dreams!

They sat side-by-side on the plane en route to Glasgow, and stood side-by-side to be photographed leaving the airport -- you can still see the AP wire photo of David and Derek together.

Of course, they had separate hotel rooms, but after the concert on Friday night, David sought out Derek's room.  They had an energetic, passionate night.

On Saturday morning, they took a private plane from Glasgow to Cardiff, where they rented motorcycles and drove two hours north, through Brecon Beacons National Park, to the tiny town of Three Cocks for lunch.

"I thought you would get a kick out of it," David said with a grin.

Another two hours north to Aberstwyth, where they registered as "Joe Drummond" and "Derek Drummond" at a guest house.  One room, two beds.

When they walked through the town, a few people stared, as if trying to place them, but David was only recognized once: a teenage boy came up and asked for his autograph.

"Are you David's mate, then?" he asked.

"Um...bodyguard," Derek said.

"Ok, right," the boy said with a knowing grin."  He walked off, singing "I Think I Love You."

"This morning I woke up with this feeling," Matt obligingly sings, "I didn't know how to deal with, and so I just decided to myself, I'd hide it to myself, and never talk about it...."

Derek looks miserable at the memory, so I cut Matt off.  "Do you think the kid knew that you and David were together?" I ask.

Apparently David thought so.  He was quiet all the way back to the guest house.  That night he insisted on sleeping in his own bed.

On Sunday morning, they got up early, biked the 2  1/2 hours back to Cardiff, and got on a plane to London.

On Monday, David flew on to Amsterdam, and Derek flew back to Los Angeles.

He never saw David again.

"Stay away from those celebrities," Derek says, looking pointedly at me.  "They'll break your heart."

Was Derek telling the truth, exaggerating a simple bodyguard job, or making the whole thing up?

Evidence that he was telling the truth: David Cassidy did tour Britain in May 1974, and the bodyguard in the AP photo looks like Derek.

Evidence against: David doesn't mention Derek, or any same-sex relationships, in his memoirs.  It is unlikely that the most famous pop star in the world would be able to take a weekend off and motorcycle through Wales without drawing the attention of the press.

See also: Derek the Fitness Model and the Teenage Cowboy; David Cassidy.