The Early Years — Part 11

One of my most pleasant memories is our trip to Chicago in July 2006 to participate in Gay Games VII. Both Dennis and I had signed up for Men's Recreational 8-Ball and 9-Ball, mostly because we wanted to be in the same tournament so we'd be around for each other during the competition.


Gay Games VII was held in Chicago July 15-22, 2006, with over 12,000 athletes competing for gold, silver and bronze medals. The opening ceremonies were held in historic Soldier Field, home of the Chicago Bears of the National Football League. The procession of athletes into the stadium was led by the San Francisco contingent, more than 500 strong. This honor is awarded to San Francisco because they are the founding city of the event. Once the procession was finished, the large crowd gave the athletes a standing ovation for over five minutes. The crowd was not aware of the surprise that was headed their way.

Suddenly, the lights of the stadium were extinguished. That was the signal for the athletes to hit the button on the light wands they held. Soldier Field was turned into a moving, light-filled rainbow flag as 12,000 athletes waved their light wands. The spectators went wild. Speeches and entertainment filled the opening ceremonies’ agenda, as the show went on for three hours.

The competition for men’s 8-ball and 9-ball was slated to begin on Monday July 17^th at the upscale billiard club called G Cue Billiards on Chicago’s near-west side. The tournament directors had placed all participants into groups of four or five, creating “pools” of competitors. During “pool play” each person played all the other people in their group twice, with a scoring system set up to reward the winner. The formula would allow the tournament directors to determine how well each shooter plays the game and would allow them to set up seeding for the various divisions (both competitive and recreational).

My “pool” consisted of Tatsuga Nagashima (“Tat”) of Akron, Ohio, Joe Durczak of Chicago and John Zambrano (who was a no show), in addition to me. I played Joe first and shot fairly well. Joe had two balls left on the table after I pocketed the 8-ball, earning five points (three for winning the game, two more for the number of balls left on the table by Joe). I next played Tat; we both shot well but I prevailed, earning four points. After Tat and Joe played, I played my second game with Joe. Unfortunately, Joe played very poorly and I won, earning nine points as Joe had only managed to pocket one ball during the game. My last game of the day against Tat was my best-played game of the day. Tat broke but scratched, giving me ball-in-hand behind the headstring. I pocketed my first six balls before getting blocked by one of Tat’s balls. After numerous innings, I finally pocketed the 8-ball on a thinly sliced shot to go undefeated in “pool play” for the day. My 28 points earned me the #3 seed for the Men’s Recreational 8-ball tournament.

In the 8-ball tournament held on Wednesday, I played steadily all day, and was never behind in any of my matches. I beat Tom Mitchell and Abraham Kupfer of Houston in my first two matches by identical 2/0 scores before meeting up with Marshall Berra of Sarasota, Florida. After winning the first game, Marshall rebounded and won the second game (my only loss of the day), forcing the tie-breaking game. I prevailed and moved into the winner’s bracket final, where I beat Mac Griswold of Houston by a 2/0 score and claim the “hot seat” (the nickname given to the person who goes through the winner’s side without losing). Mac and Marshall battled in the loser’s bracket final to determine which player would come across to face me again. Both players had only lost to me throughout the day, so both were equally salivating to get another crack at me.

L to R: Mac, Rick, Marshall

Mac prevailed in his match with Marshall. I proved to be up to the challenge, and held off Mac 2/0 to claim the Men’s Recreational 8-ball gold medal by going undefeated in my matches. Mac claimed the silver medal, with Marshall capturing the bronze.

The Men’s Recreational 9-ball was held on Friday July 21^st, with the same cast of characters that had participated in the 8-ball tournament vying for the 9-ball title. While I wasn’t as sharp as I had been during the 8-ball tournament, my steady play rewarded me yet again. I started my day with a 4/1 win against Martin Milner of Chicago, then another 4/1 victory over David Steeves of Phoenix, and a 4/1 win against Gregory Killips of Kansas City. Once I reached the winner’s bracket final, Mac Griswold from Houston was once again awaiting a chance to knock me off, but I prevailed 4/2 to grab the “hot seat” once again. In a quirk of fate, Mac and Marshall once again played each other to determine who would advance from the loser’s round to take me on for the gold medal. This time, Marshall prevailed, beating Mac 3/2 and leaving Mac with the Bronze (the tournament directors had reduced the medal rounds to a race to three instead of the race to four that had been in effect all day long, as it was becoming late in the day and everyone was tired). Marshall played real well, grabbing the first game of the match, and getting back ahead 2/1, but I came back to win the last two games and capture the 9-ball gold medal to go along with my 8-ball gold medal. I went undefeated in matches during 9-ball as well.

9-ball Gold Medal-winning shot

The entire experience of participating at Gay Games VII was magical. The people of Chicago are to be commended for staging a fantastic event. As an indication of the warmth of the people of Chicago, two strangers were sitting in their car waiting for a traffic light to change. They started applauding me as I crossed the intersection on our way to a restaurant because I was wearing the medal I had just won. While at the restaurant, another person stopped by the table where we were seated and asked what I had won the medal for; she then offered her congratulations. Moments like this made the trip memorable. And not to leave Dennis out of the story, he played reasonably well all week too, but did not get a medal. It was the first time he had participated in the Games and he really enjoyed himself.

After the Games were over, we skipped the closing ceremonies and drove to Detroit to spend the following week with his family. It was a wonderful two week vacation and was actually the last time Dennis was able to participate in events like this because the following year is when his ALS first manifested itself, though we didn't know it at the time. Overall though, a very fond memory of a fantastic trip.

The Early Years—Part 10

In the last "early years" series, I wrote about the only time we dressed up for Halloween—1987. I need to go back in time a little over a year earlier—August 1986. It's my story of competing in Gay Games II, playing both eight and nine-ball.

Back in 1982, Dr. Tom Waddell formed what was originally called the Gay Olympics. That is until the United States Olympic Committee heard about it. They sued the founders of the Gay Olympics to stop them from using the word "Olympics"—as if it were their word and only their word. Of course, the U.S. Courts agreed and upheld the lawsuit. Just days before the event was to open, the sports gathering was renamed The Gay Games. Dr. Waddell had been a member of the U.S. Olympic team in 1968 that went to Mexico City; he was a decathlete and he wanted to show the world that gay people can excel at sports, too.

It was a very exciting time to be living in San Francisco because I had missed the first Gay Games. Living here made it so easy to enter; you didn't have to worry about accommodations. Dennis and I even took in an athlete to stay with us. Naturally, it turned into a "small world" story, as our "boarder" was someone I had met in Chicago during one of the gay volleyball tournaments that were always held Memorial Day Weekends back in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Chico Johnson was from Indianapolis and was a great volleyball player—she could spike with the best of them, and I don't mean spike heels! When I registered, I entered the individual 8-ball and 9-ball competition. Because of the large number of entrants from San Francisco, you weren't going to be guaranteed that you could represent San Francisco, so I chose to represent my old hometown of Traverse City. During the Opening Ceremonies (when I was sick as a dog with the flu and a summer cold), I bundled myself up and went anyhow. I found the Michigan contingent of people, and asked them if I could carry the Traverse City placard, as I was representing "good old TC." Of course, they agreed. It was a wonderful feeling marching into Kezar Stadium, with approximately 10,000 people cheering us on. I still get goose bumps remembering it. There were about 3,500 athletes entered into The Games. Gay Games III was held in Vancouver, British Columbia; there were over 7,500 athletes, yet the straight press totally ignored this fact—it was the largest gathering of athletes in the entire world in 1990, but it was never mentioned in the straight press. They are expecting even larger crowds next year.

The pool competition wasn't going to start until Wednesday, August 13, 1986, so I had a few days to continue practicing. My hopes for a medal were as high as any entrant. I felt I had a slight advantage, as the event was being held at Park Bowl—a bowling alley that also had a room for pool and sponsored pool teams in the SFPA. My team played out of Park Bowl that season, so I was familiar with the regulation 9-foot tables. Our then current league President, Tim Chitwood, was the Tournament Director. I lucked out during the draw, as my first round opponent was also a tennis player, and had to play tennis that morning, so he was a 'no show.' I received a first round bye. My second round opponent turned out to be Tim; we battled back and forth in the race to four format. Tied at 2-2, I finished off game 5 to take a 3-2 lead, then played a great game to capture the match 4-2. My next round opponent was Dee Washburn from Redwood City. He used a couple lucky 9-ball combinations to push me to the loser's bracket by a 4-1 score. Once on the loser's side, I caught fire. Dennis left work early to come and join me and provide moral support. I had to play Bart Rosenberg from New York City in my first match on the loser's side. We had practiced together earlier in the day, and I knew he was a very capable player. He jumped out to a quick 2-0 lead, before I made a comeback to tie the match. Bart then grabbed another game to lead 3-2; I managed to come back again to knot the match at 3-3. The last nail-biting game went my way, as I prevailed 4-3. I then "found the zone" and marched through my next match against Ike Keeler of Sacramento by a 4-0 whitewashing. Steve Murrell of Springfield, Illinois was my next victim, dispatched by a 4-1 score. That left Steve in 3rd Place, good for the Bronze Medal. As I crossed back over, there was Dee Washburn again. I was itching for a rematch and I was overjoyed with the fact that I was going to get a medal, no matter what happened next. Because I was coming from the loser's side, I had to beat Dee twice in order to prevail for the Gold Medal. Dee hardly had a chance to shoot in the first match, as I steamrolled 4-1, setting up the final match of the day. We had all been on our feet for over eight hours by that time, but on we went. Dee jumped out to a quick 2-0 lead, and it was looking bleak. I hung in there and knotted the match 2-2, but Dee jumped right back for a 3-2 lead. Not to be denied, I caught him again at 3-3—one more game for the Gold Medal. I had been using defensive strategy all day, something the other shooters didn't seem to appreciate. Some of them had chided me and called it "chicken-shit" pool. I tried to tell them that there's an offensive and defensive side to all games—maybe they should try it. I played a great safety, and in attempting to get a good hit, Dee fouled. This gave me ball in hand with only four balls remaining on the table. The referee wanted to spot a ball, but I told him to hold off a minute while I assessed the situation. I planned the four-ball run-out carefully, executed it to perfection and easily pocketed the 9-ball for the win. By this time, quite a crowd had gathered and the cheers went up as I completed my run-out. As I pocketed the last ball to win the Gold Medal, I could probably have won the high jump competition, because I leapt so high into the air, coming down into the arms of friends and supporters. It remains one of the highlights of my pool-playing life. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face for a week.

Friday, August 15th—it all started up again, as the 8-ball competition started. There was a larger field than for the 9-ball tournament¾a field of 32 players. I was still glowing from Wednesday's Gold Medal win, and as I started the day, my mind set was to just take whatever came my way, it didn't matter. That mind set didn't last very long. The day's format was a race to two, double elimination. I won my first game of the day against a man from Hawaii, but he then tied the match at 1-1 and went on to defeat me, 2-1. On the loser's side, I was playing a man from Houston. He won the first game, and was leading in the second game, having pocketed all his balls except the 8-ball. He had hooked himself, and fouled. Starting with ball in hand, I played my usual style of make a ball, assess the situation, then try either a good offensive shot, or play defense. I managed to tie the match at 1-1; I then beat him 2-1 in the match. My day went like this throughout the rest of the tournament, until towards the end of the day, when I was in a position to win another medal. Tim Chitwood and I would be playing¾the loser going home with nothing, the winner moving ahead with no worse than a Bronze Medal. Both Tim and I had been playing great all day, but I had made the decision that no matter how the match went, I wanted to make sure Tim won his medal. Tim "won" the match by a 3-0 score (they had changed the format for the medal rounds), and went on to lose his next match, still claiming the Bronze. I will always remember how happy Tim was in winning his medal, and I will never regret what I did. The only question that will never be answered is: would I have gone on to win another Gold Medal? We'll never know...and I certainly don't dwell on the outcome. I made the right choice.

Facing my fears

As irrational as it sounds, one of my biggest fears is forgetting him. Not forgetting him completely, just forgetting things we did together. We were together for over 30 years, but our lives were so ordinary that I'm constantly afraid that I will not remember things we did as partners. The majority of our life together was just the process of what we humans call "living"—we get up in the morning, have breakfast, go to work, come home, have dinner together, watch some TV, then go to bed. Throw in some sexual activities and there you have it—just an ordinary, everyday life filled with the stuff that's the part of everyone else's life. With such an ordinary existence, why shouldn't I be afraid that I might forget? I've surrounded myself with photos of the two of us, I keep writing this blog, but there's still this gnawing feeling that I can't get rid of and I don't know why. How could I possibly forget him?

Some of it might be due to the emptiness that I still feel deep down inside. I don't feel "whole" and I don't know when or if I ever will again. Half of my being was torn from me a little over a year ago and I've only gotten a very small percentage of it back. How long will it take? Will I ever feel whole again? My life has such a catch-22 angle to it that much of the time I still don't know if I'm coming or going. I don't really want a new relationship (certainly not at this point in time) but at the same time, I still feel very lonely—especially when I'm home by myself—which is most of the time. But at the same time, I've been feeling pretty good lately. I've actually felt some happiness in my life lately, which has been absent for over a year now (really, you noticed?). My physical needs are starting to manifest again but I'm not sure how to go about satisfying those urges. Well, it's not that I don't know how, but rather do I really want to? How satisfying can a physical relationship be when there's no emotional attachment? That is the latest burning question in which I must find the answer. I do know how to take care of physical needs, but hands and dildos can only go so far...LOL.

Now that I'm coming out of a very long term relationship, I just don't know if a quick romp in the hay cuts it anymore. I suppose there's only one way to find out—jump in the choppy water and see if I sink or swim. Confession time: I did have an "encounter" last week, my first one with someone other than Dennis in a very long time. And while it was fun—and safe—I'm still not sure about the after effects. Yeah, I got my rocks off, but so what? Will it happen again? Probably. He was a nice guy, we got along pretty well, we held up our respective ends of the conversation over coffee. A new friend with benefits? Why not? I have to do something while trying to figure out the "new Rick," right?

Friday on my mind

It's amazing to me how much Fridays still affect me—and not in a good way. If you've read my previous posts, you know that Dennis died on Christmas Eve 2010 (a Friday night). Every Friday since then has affected me one way or the other—good, bad, ugly and everything in between. I've been feeling really good lately; you might even say that a form of happiness has crept back into my life. But as well as I've been feeling, when Friday rolls around, it still gets to me. That's 55 consecutive Fridays now. I can still clearly "see" him in his chair, his last night on earth. Will this image ever fade? Do I want it to? I guess that's the dilemma I find myself in—remember or forget? Part of this is due to the fact that we never discussed how I'd get along after he died, and that's mostly my fault—that unrecognized denial that I subconsciously went through and just recently realized. Many of my friends keep telling me, "You know he'd want you to be happy." And while I can agree with them, there's still that sliver of doubt because we never talked about it. I guess the biggest problem is that I do want to be happy, but I wanted to be happy with him beside me, not me alone. That's the roadblock I can't seem to get around at the moment. Thoughts like these bombard me on Fridays like no other day of the week. How do I move on? That's the current $64,000 question.

Life and pool

I've mentioned this before, but I am starting to feel that (this time) I'm really emerging from the shadows of the grief clouds that have been hanging over me for the past year. Because playing pool has been such a large part of my life, I relate my pool game to the other parts of my life as well. If my pool game is going along okay, then generally speaking my life seems to be more in balance. At least lately it sure seems that way. On December 31st, I played in my usual Saturday 9-ball tournament at the pool hall in my neighborhood. For the first time ever, I made the finals. The tournament uses a handicap system so that when you're playing against a real good player, you get spotted "x" number of games to make the match more competitive. I was being spotted three games in a race to six; I had just tied the score at 5/5 and broke the next rack; nothing dropped and the 9-ball was in the middle of a cluster of three balls. My opponent hit the one-ball (you must hit the lowest numbered ball on the table first) into the cluster, which propelled the 9-ball directly into the corner pocket, ending the game and the match with one stroke. I settled for second place and $235.

This past Saturday (January 7), the same situation arose. I made the final for the second consecutive week and this time, my opponent was more like a freight train—he ran right over me, leaving me a bloody pulp on the tracks (second was still worth $50; a reduced entry fee made less money available).

While I would like to win one of these times, losing doesn't bother me because I'm playing mostly for fun and to improve my game...and I'm now doing both.

When I'm playing pool well, it's not frustrating (like the past year). I'm really hopeful that these latest successes bode well for 2012. Only time will tell.

2012: what will it bring?

It's now more than a year since Dennis passed away, and I'm curious as to what 2012 will bring forth to my world. I know I am not ready for a new relationship, but what about meeting new men? How about a new friend with benefits? I'm not really sure I'm ready. From a fantasy standpoint, the idea of having someone to fuck around with seems cool, but I don't know if I'm really ready for the reality of such a situation. When I was a young man, having many partners and having an active sex life was a given—it was the beginning of the current gay rights movement and it was also pre-AIDS, which allowed a lot of leeway for gay men exploring their newly found sexuality. At least I found that I had a lot of leeway. While the social scene at that time (the late 1970s) was predominantly the bars, there were also bathhouses to consider. I certainly made good use of them—and my little white ass was quite popular. I never figured it out for sure, but black men in particular loved to fuck my cute ass. And I certainly enjoyed those large black dicks. I know it's probably stereo-typing, but considering the number of black men I had sex with, I never did find one that had a small or average-sized dick. They were always on the larger end of the spectrum—not that there's anything wrong with that. Whenever I went to the baths, I always knew beforehand that I'd get fucked. All I had to do was get a room, leave the door slightly ajar, lie on the bed/cot face down with my ass in plain view, and before too long I would hear the door close and the action would start. I'm not sure I can be as free with my ass nowadays.

I think I mentioned this in my last article, but the one-year anniversary (which I considered symbolic) has turned out to be more than symbolic. I actually do feel somewhat different. Not sure I can put a handle on it yet, but the change in my being is definitely there. Now I just have to figure out what it means.

While no one can accurately predict the future, I am very hopeful that 2012 will be the start of my true healing from the loss of Dennis. 2011 was more like going through the motions of living as I tried to get used to the idea of living alone for the first time in over 30 years. What with 2012 starting, I'm hopeful that my life will no longer be "just going through the motions" but will start actually meaning something to me again. While I was never in a suicidal situation, last year I really didn't care one way or the other whether I lived or died. Even though the rest of my life will be lived without Dennis, I can now truly say that I know I'll make it. There's always going to be a sadness, but I can't dwell on that any longer. I must start remembering the good times and write about them because those are the memories that will sustain me until it's my time to join Dennis on the other side.