IT’S LIBRA SEASON

Greetings Letters readers, Robby from Brooklyn here, bringing tidings and joy on this, the very best season of all the seasons- LIBRA SEASON. Libra season runs from September 22nd through October 21st. This astrological period emphasizes themes of balance, harmony, relationships, and fairness. It also encourages social interaction, negotiation and personal connections.

While these benefits impact all astrological signs, some famous Libras include Julie Andrews, Hugh Jackman, Matt Damon, Zac Efron, Gwen Stefani, Bruno Mars, Avril Lavigne, Hilary Duff, Sting, and yours truly. Libra personality traits include being diplomatic, fair-minded, sociabl,e and artistic with a love of harmony and beauty. Libras are natural peacemakers and skilled negotiators, but can be indecisive, conflict-avoidant, and sometimes prone to superficiality or people pleasing.

I have long identified with everything Libra even having a Libra tattoo on my left inside bicep. Many of my best friends are Libras I get along great with Libras.

Birthdays are bittersweet for many reasons. I am not a huge celebrator of my birthday however it 1000% must be acknowledged. We acknowledge birthdays for the sheer fact that many of our friends did not get to see 40 or 50 or 60. We acknowledge birthdays for those no longer with us. But as far as “its my birthday WEEK,” or “its my birthday MONTH,” no thats not how I roll.

This birthday rings even more bittersweet because I don’t feel like I am where I should be at this point in my life. I don’t feel like I have the same things that many others at the same age have. I am single not in a relationship. I don’t own any property. And when you put yourself up next to others in your age bracket and you have decidedly less it can sting.

At a party a few weeks ago, talking with friends about their twentysomething daughter who was a teacher, and she explained that “yes, I know I am making less than my friends and that I am going to have less than them,” I felt a sense of camaraderie with her. I also explained to her that I felt exactly the same way at 25. But twenty five years later, that same sentiment hits very differently.

And of course, we all know that comparing yourself to someone else is a dangerous slippery slope – but it is human.

I need to flip the switch and look at the glass half full and through a Libra lens. I have worked in amazing schools and met incredible teachers who I have learned from and who, to this day, many I still call friends. I have lived in amazing cities and states and have gotten to travel to numerous continents, each providing enriching experiences.

FAIRNESS

I have been arrested for civil disobedience protesting the availability of guns in this country. I have been arrested at sit-ins at the Supreme Court of the United States protesting how queer people are treated as 2nd class citizens in this country. I have personally raised over $100k for AIDS research, participating in more than 10 cycling events like AIDS Lifecycle and The Smart Ride.

SOCIAL INTERACTIONS AND PERSONAL CONNECTIONS

I volunteer at organizations like God Love We Deliver and SAGE in New York City meeting queer senior citizens and learning from them about what queer life was like in the 1960s and 1970s at the beginning of the queer liberation movement.

BALANCE AND HARMONY

And the most important aspect of this birthday coming up is that it is by no means anywhere near the end of anything. As I like to say – the best is yet to come. If this is middle aged then that is exactly where i am – in the middle. There are hopefully years and years and decades to build that oh so important financial wealth and financial security I am so longing for.

Until then, I guess I am going to have to be ok with the old familiar saying, “You’re rich in other ways,” is going to have to suffice!

Until next time readers, Happy Libra season!

(this column was originally published in the October edition of “Letters from Camp Rehoboth.”)

I’M COMING OUT

“I’m coming out, I want the world to know, Got to let it show…” Diana Ross belted out these lyrics in 1980, but when I was a college student and just coming to terms with my sexuality and just realizing that I was gay, I didn’t want the world to know and I def did not try to let it show.

Greetings Letters readers, Robby from Brooklyn here, and I’m proudly gay. Proudly queer. Today I can proudly, comfortably say those words. But 25 years ago things were very different – in the world and in my tiny corner of the world. “Queer Eye” and “Rupaul’s Drag Race” were years away from debuting on television. For a short, Catholic Italian boy growing up in Queens, New York, the gay mecca of Chelsea and 8th Avenue in Manhattan might as well have been 3,000 miles away.

In the early ’90s, gay role models were few and far between. Obviously, they were there. I just didn’t know how to find them or even where to look for them. There was no one I thought I could confide in, so I just pushed those feelings aside, and tucked away – anywhere but out. I joined the swim team, the Drama Club, volunteered, and went on school trips. Dated a girl, maybe two. Okay, probably just the one.

After graduation I moved to Hoboken with three friends from college, and got a job in event planning in Times Square. Now 23, I was working in Manhattan and exposed to people from different cultures, different backgrounds, different lifestyles.

In NYC I began living my best life. I worked at a company where most of the men, if not all of them, were gay. I listened to them tell me stories of their lives, their weekends, their partners, all the time feeling inside that I was just like them. I am certain they knew it too. They were extremely patient, letting me know that it was ok to be gay but never outright asking or pressuring me.

Living in Hoboken – with three straight males – and working in an environment of all gay men was quite the culture shock. I felt like 2 different people. The secret weighed inside me more and more, getting heavier day by day.

My coming out wasn’t one episode. It was a miniseries. I decided to tell friends one at a time over a span of a few weeks – straight males friends were told last. Again, all were extremely supportive and assured me nothing had changed, and that they had known for a long time. Everyone pretty much knew so my reveal wasn’t as big and grand as I had imagined it was going to be!

Coming out only intensified the double life I was living. Gay in Manhattan. Not gay in Hoboken. Since I was newly out and testing the waters, being gay to me meant going to a gay bar, alone, meeting someone, hooking up and then never seeing or talking to him again. Healthy, said no one ever. I know. I needed gay friends. I just wasn’t having any luck finding them. When I found a gay person I thought could be a friend, I held on tight, even if we didn’t have much in common, even if I didn’t love spending time with them, but they were all I had at the moment. For me any gay friends were better than no gay friends.

It took some time but I did eventually find my “gay group,” and my life became a whole lot more gay. Instead of a shore house in Manasquan, NJ, I took a summer share in Fire Island Pines. I moved from Hoboken to the Upper East Side. While before if it was 90% hanging out with college friends 10% hanging out with gay friends, the numbers had now switched. I was exploring this new identity in every facet of my life.

A year later I dropped the bomb at dinner, things went downhill from there. My mom cried visibly and loudly at the table – so much so that our waiter came over to make sure we were all ok. Through her tears she expressed that, “We love you no matter what, but I just think that your life is going to be harder, and that breaks my heart.”

Remember this was 2000. Not 2020. After trying to calm her down, my dad felt it was best that I head home and we would talk soon. It did take some time, as things do, but once I included them in my life, introduced them to friends, boyfriends, Mom’s tears stopped. She even joined the local PFLAG chapter. Lol. A few years later tipsy at a family wedding I made sure to assuage her fears by letting her know that “being gay is the best thing EVER!”

My coming out was disjointed, long, messy but it was MINE. My heart broke for Simon in the 2018 rom-com “Love, Simon,” as he screamed to his blackmailer how he took that away from him, outing him in an email to his whole high school. Gay icon Barry Manilow recently “officially” came out on the cover of People magazine stating he has been out his whole life, everyone who knew him knew he was gay and he didn’t feel the need to officially come out to the public. Same for Anderson Cooper. Sean Hayes regrets not coming out when “Will and Grace” was on the air, the first time.

Celebrity or not coming out should be on your terms and when you are ready. No one deserves to be outed or forced to come out. Coming out is still important. Coming out still matters. For me, it felt like a huge weight was lifted. I was essentially lighter. No more secrets, no more shame, no more fear. Being openly gay and proud takes balls and takes guts. Be proud of how far you’ve come and all the great things ahead for you. Congrats and welcome to the team.

(this column originally appeared in the September issue of “Letters From Camp Rehoboth.”)

MEMORIES OF THE NYC GAY PRIDE PARADES

BY GUEST WRITER VINCENT POMILIO

On Saturday June 14th I took part in the No Kings rally in Hudson, NY. Every small town in the
Hudson Valley had some sort of No Kings event. Being Hudson, there was a strong LGBTQ
presence with very creative outfits and signage. The feeling of change in the air was mixed with frustration, anger and fear. A feeling of hopelessness pervaded. Yet with so many people gathered together to express these feelings, it also gave one hope that we can change things, make them better, topple the evil empire.

There was the same feeling in these rallies as events in the 1970’s when I took part in anti-Vietnam War marches and early Gay Rights demonstrations. How little things have changed. We made such progress and yet, here we are again. The gains we have made over the last few decades now seem so fragile and tenuous.

The rally in Hudson, NY reminded me of the first Gay Rights March I attended. It was 1973.
It was only four years after Stonewall, yet much had changed in those four years. I had just graduated college and had an art teaching job lined up at Conestoga Valley High School in
Lancaster, PA. I had come out the previous summer while working as a cook in Cape May, NJ

My coming out was traumatic as I had been outed by a fellow student who saw me at a gay bar in Reading, PA called The Green Door. She was a waitress at the restaurant attached to the bar. Within days, news of my gayness spread on campus. I was shunned by some fellow classmates and a couple of my roommates were forced to move out by their parents so as not to be associated with me.

I soon had a boyfriend, Tim Riley, who lived in Philadelphia, my hometown. It was Tim’s idea to go to the Gay Rights March in New York in 1973. One month before the march, I had been interviewed by the principal and another art teacher at the
high school in Lancaster. Mr. Kennedy was the principal and Mr. Dreibelbis was the art teacher. Turns out, Mr. Dreibelbis was gay and really wanted me to get the job. The principal appealed to me to get a haircut and lose my beard before he agreed to hire me. I refused but got the job anyway.

A month after getting hired for the job, with a big chunk of the summer still ahead, Tim and I headedto NYC for the Gay March. That year it started at Columbus Circle and went down Fifth Ave to Washington Square Park. As we were lining up, a small crowd gathered along the sidelines to see what was going on

As we were waiting to start moving , I spotted Principal Kennedy with his wife and another couple watching with looks of horror on their faces at all of these freakish homos. I tried my best to be inconspicuous and to this day never knew whether or not he saw me with the other gay marchers. The march was so amazing. It was homespun and incredibly upbeat and we all felt so proud to be a part of it. I couldn’t believe how many people took part. There were people as far as you could see up and down Fifth Avenue. Washington Square was a giant block party with great music and dancing and a collective feeling that were doing something important and that it might make a difference.

In 1976, I moved to NYC to do graduate work in painting at NYU. I loved my new life in New York
City; it was a great time to be young and gay in NY. Tim and had broken up but remained close friends. Tim and I took part in the Pride March each year until his death from AIDS in 1988. In 1978 I met a guy who I had been lusting after for the last couple of years, Tom Hinckley. Tom and I hit it off, fell in love and began a life together. Tom was handsome and brilliant. Tom was seven years older and came from Massachusetts Mayflower stock. The Hinckleys spent summers in Maine; I was an Italian American kid who spent summers at the Jersey Shore.

I am recalling Tom here along with the Gay Pride Parades for many reasons. We spent 16 years
together until his death from AIDS in 1994. Tom had been very involved with ACTUP. He wrote for the Treatment and Data Digest, a bi-monthly publication that presented news of HIV drug treatments and research from the CDC. His work here was very important as he was great at translating medical information into laymen’s terms so we could all understand it. Tom’s death was the Friday before the 25th anniversary of Stonewall and the big Pride March was to be held on the last Sunday of June 1994.

That whole week I had been going back and forth with Tom’s family to Saint Vincent’s
Hospital. They had left before he died. He slipped into unconsciousness and died right after I had left the hospital for a few hours to try and get some sleep. I was able to return to the hospital and be with him along with a few friends to say our goodbyes. I have never felt so alone.

While walking back to my apartment on Morton Street, there were huge crowds of gay people fromall over the world gathering for the 25th anniversary of Stonewall. Celebrations were happening all around me which made my grief that much harder to bear. I took refuge in my apartment but could hear music and partying going on all over the West Village. I got through the night and on Saturday joined friends to watch a movie at their apartment and try to cheer up. Tom would have wanted me to go out and join in all the partying going on. I just couldn’t get into it. His death wasn’t sudden. It was a year of pain and suffering and adjusting to each tragic stage of Tom’s physical decline. The worst stage was when he could no longer walk. Yet Tom was so emotionally strong through all of this and was determined not to make my plight worse than it already was.

There was one incident that is so painful to recall. We were going to the M and O market on the corner of Thompson and Prince Streets. Tom was in a wheelchair. A car load of thugs with Jersey plates rolled down their windows and hollered, “I hope you all die of AIDS, faggots.” Tom hollered obscenities back at them, never backing down.

The Sunday of the Pride Parade was a gorgeous late June day. I was not sleeping well and didn’t know what to do with myself and my profound sadness. There was also some sense of relief knowing Toms suffering was over and my caretaking responsibilities were also over. I got a call from my friend Art McGuire inviting me to attend the parade with them. It felt inappropriate, but what else was I going to do that day? Sit in the apartment and be horribly depressed?

I met Arthur, his partner Alistair and our friend Steven Weinstock for breakfast at LeBonboniere, a greasy spoon diner on Hudson Street. The March met downtown and moved up to Central Park that year. It turned out to be a great idea to be around friends and take part in this major event. Tom was there in spirit. The mood of the crowd was jubilant with streets packed with onlookers cheering and dancing.

We reached the

park and there was a pause before entering the park for the big after party. One of the speakers
announced that there would be a moment of silent meditation to honor those that died of AIDS. My friends all gathered around me and gave me a big collective hug. There was never a more moving, heart breaking and deafening silence. Never was silence more meaningful. So many of our friends had died in the last four or five years. I remember the feeling of despair turning into hope during that moment of silence. You could hear many people crying. The silence seemed to last an eternity. In the end there was a feeling of love, community and collective grief. We had all been touched by this. It brought us closer together.

Over the years, the parade has changed. It has become a big block party with corporate sponsors. It’s a great opportunity to have fun, but don’t let your guard down. Times are changing. Many battles have been fought and won but there are many forces that are working hard to take it away.

my husband Bob Bohan, my cousin Heather Brown, her girlfriend, and me. This is at the Parade on 6th avenue.

YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT!

Greetings, Robby from Brooklyn here writing on a glorious May 1st here in NYC. This just might be the nicest day of the year so far. The sun shining down gives me life today, which I need. In the past month, I have experienced two major setbacks on beloved projects I have been a part of. These setbacks were obviously not intended or prepared for, and I am wondering where to go from here.

The first is the cancellation of my just-created “Know Your Gay History” class. To describe the class as a complete flop would be an understatement. Zero interest, zero calls, zero registrations, zero. We create an idea, we think there is an audience for it, and sometimes we are wrong.

The room rental was over $100 for each class, so with multiple classes with zero registrations, it seemed silly – and frankly unaffordable – to continue moving forward. Looking back, marketing and publicizing the class might have been an issue, as a few friends I mentioned the cancellation of the class were unaware the class even existed. If close friends didn’t even know the class existed how was the general public supposed to be aware? Maybe there is a world where the class returns however, in a different space, different time, different iteration.

The second setback concerns an AIDS charity event that I have been a part of for decades, and is ending this year. This would have been my 7th time participating, but after MAJOR red flags with my team and team management, it became clear to me – and other veterans – that dropping out was the only course of action. When multiple people use the exact same words of “Its going to be a shit-show,” you have to listen.

This ride is a week-long long glorious, multi-day event filled with amazing people and activities, and events. Millions and millions of dollars are raised for HIV-AIDS-related services that directly affect thousands and thousands of people. I am beyond proud to have been a part of it and will continue to be proud of my involvement.

The week is also hard work. Our team leaves camp daily around 8 am to drive to our station for the day (usually 60-80 miles away). We have two hours to set up before we open around 1130am. We are open until approximately 6pm to serve the 2,500 cyclists who are riding. We serve them food, drinks, have photo ops, and are in charge of bike parking and safety. It is extremely rewarding and satisfying, but also not easy. Throw in even the slightest of mismanagement, and the day turns from hard, satisfying work to grueling and exhausting.

Packing the truck wrong, which means you are packing and repacking it multiple times in a day, getting lost on the drive back to camp, and missing dinner, when each van is provided with a huge binder of step-by-step directions to and from every camp, every lunch stop, and every rest stop.

Both of these seem minor on paper, but after a 13-hour day of working in the CA heat, they are soul-crushing.

The lack of any type of communication from higher up this year was the main reason for dropping out. An initial ask about room on the team in October was not answered until January (that should have been my first clue.) I found out I was on the team when I was added to a group text chat. No message, no introduction, no welcome to the team. Nothing.

Multiple requests for a meeting as the weeks and months went on were ignored. We finally had our first meeting in April. For an event that is in June, the timing of this first meeting is, forgive the hyperbole, disastrous.

The decision to drop out was not an easy one by any means. I have been a part of this event for over 20 years. This, being the last one, only solidified the finality of my decision. However, even though my involvement with this Ride and my team ended, I am still Ride or Die for them and wish them nothing but huge successes. I just had to remove myself from the equation.

A HUGE THANK YOU to my donors, not only from this year but from years past, many of whom have supported me over and over.

So, where do I go from here? Like Carrie Bradshaw said in the now iconic “Sex and the City” episode “The Real Me,” where she falls down on the runway, Stanford calls her fashion roadkill,
“When real people fall down in life, they get right back up and keep on walking.”

It’s time for Robby to get right back up and keep on walking. Hey, there is a Boston to NYC AIDS ride in September, maybe there is room on the crew!

Until next time, Readers, Happy May Day…IT’S GONNA BE MAY!

(this column was originally published in the May edition of “Letters from Camp Rehoboth.”)

(this column was edited by Rachel Lader.)

KNOW YOUR GAY HISTORY

GRID. Oscar Wilde. Friend of Dorothy. The Mattachine Society. Edie Winsor. If you know who or what all five of those mean…congratulations you know your gay history!

Gay history is American history. Queer history is American history. Gay people have always existed – we have always been here. And, as it has always been throughout history, it is up to us to teach others our collective history. As I have said in this column before – the queer community takes care of itself.

It is my honor and privilege to announce the beginning of a monthly class at the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Community Center (The Center) in NYC called – none other than – “Know Your Gay History.”

In creating this class and working on the curriculum I started reminiscing about my own personal gay history. Growing up gay in the 1970s-1990s was a completely different experience than growing up gay in the 2000s-2020s. Like night and day doesn’t even begin to cover how different it was. For me growing up in the 80s anything gay was honestly non-existent. There was NO ONE one for me to look up to or look at and see any sort of representation.

Yes, there were blips here and there. Billy Crystal in “Soap,” Harry Hamlin, and Michael Ontkean in “Making Love,” (also starring the beloved Kate Jackson.) The television shows “Maude” and “All in the Family” each introduced a gay character and started the dialogue. But I wasn’t even born when those episodes aired. I had no frame of reference or way to find a movie like “Making Love.” Remember this was a full two decades before the glorious World Wide Web existed.

Slowly the world evolved – the USA eons slower than a large majority of the rest of the civilized world – and change happened. “Will and Grace” and “Queer as Folk,” debuted on our television screens. Movies like “Trick” and “The Broken Hearts Club” spoke to us and made us feel seen. Sean Penn, Christopher Plummer, Cate Blanchett, Jared Leto, Eddie Redmayne and Mahershala Ali all won or were nominated for Oscars playing queer characters. After decades and decades of marching and protesting, marriage equality was finally passed in 2015. (If the current Presidential Administration plans on taking it away from us they are gonna have to pry it from my cold dead hands…and I ain’t even married.)

Queer culture has changed throughout history as well. Case in point, we have reclaimed the word queer – “Queer Nation,” “Queer Eye” – it’s no longer a slur. We have adopted it as our own with members of our community identifying as queer.

These younger generations came up in a more accepting world. The world that we created for them. We wanted them to be able to live openly and freely. We wanted their youth to be different from ours — and we achieved that. As Billy Eichner famously says in “Bros,” the first queer led romantic comedy, “Of course they are happy. They had Glee. We had AIDS.”

With that happiness and change, sometimes there is pushback or backlash. And some of that comes from within our own community. I mean we only have to look back to the “No fats, No Femmes, No Asians,” that used to be littered on sex apps to know that gay on gay discrimination exists. (Now it’s “No Total Bottoms” but that’s a discussion for another time.)

Different pronouns and guys wearing nail polish are just two examples of how queers in different generations express themselves. “It’s just not for me,” “I don’t get it,” or “They don’t even know who Judy Garland is,” are frequently heard phrases from some 65-year-old gay men talking about a 21-year-old gay person.

Of course they are different. Forty four years is a lifetime! There are so many aspects of gay culture that Gen Z has no frame of reference for including – who Harvey Milk, Harvey Firestein and Divine were. Or why Anita Bryant is so rightfully despised and why Cher is so universally adored. Cue the “Know Your Gay History” class.

Even with generational divides and differences we have to remember, as members of the queer community, we have MUCH more in common than different. Let’s celebrate those differences! And we can never forget that we are stronger together. Our umbrella needs every single letter LGBT and Q. Two trans women of color – Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera – are credited with throwing the 1st brick at Stonewall. Although neither have said so personally. The lesbian community stepped up and served as caregivers to the countless gay men dying of AIDS in the 1980s.

Our queer history is long and rich. It’s time we all Know Our Gay History, aka American History!

To register for the Gay History class – tinyurl.com/knowyourgayhistory

(This column was originally published in the April edition of “Letters from Camp Rehoboth.”)