My Brief Modeling Career

Chicago, April 1979

One of the highlights of my freshman year at Augustana was my brief -- very brief -- modeling career.

I had my own radio program, the "International Pop Hour," where I played pop songs from Europe.  In between, I interviewed anyone who might have the slightest international connection, from the political science professor from China to the Italian-American manager of Langomarcino's Chocolates.

 One day in April, shortly after I got back from determining that my friend Mary's brother was "straight," I interviewed Lars Lundquist (not his real name), who came to Augustana as a foreign student in 1968 and now had his own photography studio in Chicago.

"I do everything -- kids, dogs, weddings, even passport photos," he said, "But I'm specializing in fashion.  I want to get some clients and go into talent management."  He paused.  "You know, you've got a nice fresh-scrubbed all-American look.  Did you play football in high school?"

"No, I was an athletic trainer.  But I saw more moldy towels and stinky athletic supporters than any football player."  I cued the laugh track.

"Can you come out to Chicago next week?  We'll do a shoot, and see what happens."

It's a scam!  My inner skeptic told me.  But then..."He's got a studio in Chicago, on Michigan Avenue!"  Besides, my listeners -- all 5 of them -- wanted to know what happened.

So the next weekend I drove out, and he took some shots of me wearing an orange leisure suit, a polo shirt and jeans, and a yellow turtleneck sweater with green pants (bright colors were "in" that year).

I quit my job at the Carousel Snack Bar, and through the spring and summer of 1979, except for my 10 days in Colombia,  I drove out to Chicago every few weeks and let Lars photograph me.  I got some work: see if you can find the Christmas 1979 catalog for the Marshall Fields department store, or Chicago Magazine in the spring of 1981.  I didn't keep any copies -- the photos were too embarrassing.

The money wasn't very good, and I was too busy with classes, clubs, and my job to drive out to Chicago every five minutes, so I was getting tired of it by the fall of 1979, when Lars asked, "Would you consider working for the gay market?"

"What?" I asked, stunned.  "What kind of market is there for gays?"

"All you have to do is pose nude -- there's no sex involved.  And the pay is good."

Was it legal?  And where could you go to buy nude pictures of men?

Apparently there were several gay porn magazines available in the adult bookstores of big cities.  Plus a mail order industry of nude male photos, marketed to gay men who couldn't get to big cities, and didn't want a porn magazine delivered to their home.

I could be a beacon of light to gay men in small towns!

But I would be out to millions of people.  Ok, hundreds.  They wouldn't be seeing my real name, but still...what if my mother saw the photos...or my friends at school....

A few days later, I met Fred, my ministerial student boyfriend.  I was sure that he would disapprove, so the nude photo shoot never happened, and my modeling career fizzled out (except for the adult movie I made, sort of, a few years later).

My Sunday School Teacher's Stripper Sons

When I was a kid in the 1970s, my favorite Sunday school teacher was named Brother Dino (not his real name).  He was young, in his mid-20s, with black hair and a thick black moustache -- rare for Nazarenes.

He had only been saved for a couple of years -- before that, he was a Catholic! -- and he knew all about movies, dancing, drinking, card-playing, carnivals, circuses, and Catholic Masses. He framed them as destructive and evil: "Look how horrible my life was before I got Saved!" -- but the stories were brash, colorful, and seductive.

Brother Dino was our cabin counselor at Nazarene summer camp during the summer of 1974, just after eighth grade. One day I saw him naked in the shower.  He looked like this guy: muscular body, hairy chest and belly, very impressive beneath the belt.

Nazarenes typically didn't have many kids -- why bring kids into the world, when the Rapture would come at any moment -- but Brother Dino and his wife had lots, four girls (born 1968, 1970, 1973, 1975)  --and, just when they were giving up, two boys, Mickey and Dom (1977, 1978).   I didn't pay them much attention -- I left the Nazarene church when the oldest was only about 10 -- but my mother told me about the them their talent show and jump quiz triumphs, their dates with the new preacher's kid, their participation in International Institute, their colleges and marriages and children.

She never mentioned the stripping. But my brother Ken did.

At Christmastime 1999, I was back in Rock Island home for the holidays, and as my brother drove me away from the airport, we passed a low gray building.  "That's a new strip club," Ken announced.  "Where girls take off their clothes," he added, as clarification.

"Any male performers?"  I asked.

"As a matter of fact, Tuesday is lady's night, with guys taking their clothes off."

I didn't ask how he acquired that information.  "Hmm...lady's night, only women allowed, I guess."

"And you know who the top dancers are?  Brother Dino's kids, Mickey and Dom!  Brother Dino can barely hold his head up in church anymore!  What did he expect, when he gave them Catholic names?"

Mickey and Dom were now in college -- one at Augustana, the other at St. Ambrose, the Catholic college in Davenport.  And on Tuesday night they made extra money by performing at the strip club.

Men were allowed in "if accompanied by a lady," so I called an old college friend, and we went to the 10:00 show. I was the only man in a crowd of twenty or so women.

Having not seen the boys since Mickey was a toddler and Dom a babe-in-arms, I didn't know what to expect.  They came on stage dressed as college jocks in sweatpants and Augustana and St. Ambrose sweatshirts.  They pretended to argue about college rivalries, and in "anger" stripped each other out of everything but their jockstraps.

 They had smooth, muscular bodies -- rather surprising, given their dad's hairiness, and not as sculpted as the male models of West Hollywood, but certainly impressive.

They danced together on a little stage, then separated and worked the crowd.  I think it was the oldest, Mickey, who gyrated toward my side of the room.  I held up a dollar.

He approached, grinning, his smooth chest shining with sweat, and thrust his crotch suggestively toward me. "I'm an ex-Nazarene, too," I told him, shouting to make myself heard above the music.  "Your dad was my Sunday school teacher."

He looked surprised, but kept grinning.  "Small world!" he said.  "You gay or is she your girlfriend?"

"Just a friend."  He straddled my lap.  I shoved the dollar inside his jock strap and felt around to see if he was as big as his dad.  He was.

"Cool!  You guys the best tippers!  Wanna kiss?"

"Sure!"

He bent over and kissed me briefly on the lips, as I shoved another dollar into his jock strap.  The crowd squealed in shock or delight.  Then he rose and backed away and gyrated toward a woman who was holding up a dollar.

My mother tells me that both Mickey and Dom are married with children now, working in human resources and telecommunications, respectively.  Their stripping days are far behind them.  But I'm sure that they're gay allies.

Rock Island has changed.

See also: A Nude Party with the Golden Boy

Nude Photos of John Davidson

John Davidson (not the actor) was "everyone's favorite model," even though he only worked for about six months.

"Butchie" (nobody called him John) was born in Bronxville, New York in December 1945, and grew up near Baltimore, Maryland.  After graduating from high school in 1964, he moved to New York and puttered around, making money by hustling and modeling. His first professional photos were taken by Walter Kundcziz's  Champion Studios.

In March 1965, Butchie joined the Marines and was sent to L.A. for a 12-week boot camp.  He found time to model, too, posing for Pat Milo, Spartan Studios, and Bob Mizer of the Athletic Model Guild.

He got a USMC tattoo, and he also may or may not have befriended Tony Dow, the 20-year old actor who previously played Wally on Leave it to Beaver.

Mizer said that Butchie was "one of the liveliest, most energetic models we have ever had," and  filmed him eight times, giving him starring roles in The Improvident Immigrant (with his Marine buddy Al Emonds, who he brought along for the day), Vicious Guard (where he did a jail-house card game scene with Pat White), Gladiator and the Slave, and The Sassy Seaman and the Officer.

He also put Butchie on the cover of the June 1965 issue of Physique Pictorial.

The secret symbols Mizer used reveal that Butchie was Greek passive (an anal bottom), French active (into oral), "a ball" (fun to work with), and "an experienced hustler."

In June 1965, Butchie shipped out to Vietnam, but he never made it.  While on shore leave on the island of Okinawa, he contracted  Japanese encephalitis from a mosquito bite.  He died on July 4th, 1965, only 19 years old.

But he managed to cram a lot of great experiences into those 19 years.

The Tony Dow connection is on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding

Nude Photos of Forrester Millard, the First Gay Physique Model

Forrester Millard (aka Forrester Dorlac) was the first model for Bob Mizner's Athletic Model Guild.

In the 1940s, he often adopted classical poses.

Usually with a posing strap, of course: nude photos of men were not permitted in print or the U.S. mails until the 1960s.

His modeling career lasted from 1946 to about 1960.

Although heterosexual, he was always happy to display his physique to an audience of gay men, a rarity in the 1950s.

The full post is on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.

John Hamill: The First Nude Male Model

These are photos of John Hamill, the first male model to pose nude and aroused, from the post on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding

My First Chippendale Dancer

Bloomington, May 1983

During my first year at Indiana University (1982-83), I lived in Eigenmann Hall, the graduate student dorm, and met five gay guys on my floor.  I thought that Thad (not his real name), from two floors below, was gay, too. 

He was studying for his M.A. in International Affairs, and his father was some kind of ambassadorial aid, so he had been everywhere, from India to Zimbabwe.  He liked to play Dungeons and Dragons and write science fiction.  And he was hot, shorter than me, with a nicely muscled physique  (two of the five traits that I find attractive in men, and one day when I saw him in the shower, a third).

Sounds like a match made in heaven.

I figured that he was gay because he wasn't into sports, and he never dated girls or mentioned girls. But gradually he revealed a strong streak of homophobia:
1. We were writing a science fiction story, and he said, "Let's make them land on a planet run by gays.  Their flag can be a limp wrist.  It will be hilarious!"
2. He made up a parody song based on "Home on the Range," with a line: "Where the fags and the fairies all play."
3. One night we were watching a tv program starring my future celebrity boyfriend, and Thad said "I hear he's such a fag that he had to be taken to the emergency room to have his stomach pumped after having sex with 300 men!"
4. He saw me talking to Terry, the flamboyant M.F.A. student (who was actually straight), and cautioned "I don't know how to tell you this, but be very careful around him.  I think he might be gay."
5. He had an interview for a job with Foreign Service, and came storming back, furious.  "He had the nerve to ask if I was a fag!  I almost punched him in the face!"

By this point, I was trying to disassociate myself from Thad, but he kept sitting with me in the cafeteria, joining me in the tv lounge, knocking on my door.  It was time to take a stand.

Unfortunately, I was closeted, so I couldn't just come out to him.

So I used the same tactic I would use on my friend Bruce a year and a half later:  "It's time you got laid.  My friend Viju and I are taking you into Indianapolis, to some bars where you're sure to score."

We drove into Indianapolis, playing it cool, until we got to the Varsity Club, a mixed gay/lesbian bar with lots of "straight acting" older guys.  Thad ogled some of the women, and didn't seem to notice that they were dancing together.  He didn't notice the gay men cruising each other, either.  And no one was cruising him.

Viju started working the room, and soon was on the dance floor.

Thad noticed that.
 

"Hey, you'd better go talk to your friend.  It almost looks like he's dancing with a guy.  People might think he's gay!"

"So what if they do?"

"So what if they do?" he repeated in shock.  "Well, for starters, he'll get kicked out of the club!  And people will think we're gay too!"

"I don't think that will be a problem.  There are other gays here."

His eyes widened.  "Where?"

"I'm guessing those guys kissing over there."

Thad stood up, his face pale with shock.  "You brought me to a gay bar!" he shouted.  "A gay bar!"  He ran out into the street.

Since we were 40 miles from Bloomington, he couldn't go far: he was waiting for us outside.

All the way home he muttered "You took me to a gay bar!  You took me to a gay bar!"

"Relax.  Nobody assaulted you. did they? As far as I could tell, everyone was giving you Attitude."

"If anyone finds out, my parents will freak!  And I'll never get a job in the government.  They don't allow..."

"Why, are you planning to tell them?"

"It was a gay bar!"

Strangely enough, the traumatic "prank" didn't keep Thad from coming around.  So the next weekend, I told him, "Viju and I are going out again, this time to Bullwinkle's, here in Bloomington.  Would you like to come with is?"

"It's not another gay bar, is it?" Thad asked.

"I believe it gets a mostly gay clientele."

He stared at me for a long time.  Then, in a low voice, almost a whisper: "Sure, ok.  What time?"

A few months later, Thad was performing at Bullwinkle's Chippendales Night

See also: 14 Simple Steps to Turning a Straight Guy Gay.