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CHAPTER 3

The Regretless Seniors

I begin my presentation of the organizations I observed at the Center with the SAGE group (Senior Action in Gay Environment). They appeared on the list of the daily activities I saw at the reception desk when I first entered the building and began my regular observations at that site. The participants defined themselves as the younger membership cohort of that organization, so I thought I would not appear conspicuous in any way among them.¹ They received me very warmly and, as it turned out, were the subject of the first paper I wrote about my work at the Center. I introduce them first in this volume because the discourse they carried on at the meetings seemed to encapsulate some of the major issues of gay men’s life that came to occupy my project in its later phase. I believe that had I left my notes on that group as data for analysis by somebody else, he or she might not have concluded that they represented people who defined themselves as “seniors.” The stories, complaints, and experiences related by the participants could often be told and listened to in the company of their “juniors” in gay men’s society.

Studies of older gay men have yielded contradictory results. Some, like Lee (1989), supported the traditional assumption that having lost their physical attractiveness in a youth-oriented gay society, their lives are characterized by isolation and invisibility. But others, Berger’s (1996 [1982]) in particular, found that older gay men are no less adjusted than older heterosexuals. Furthermore, his respondents reported a level of sexual activity that belied the stereotype of the sexless life of older gay men. But whatever their major perspective, all studies emphasized the importance of involvement in close social networks and organizations for successful aging in gay society (e.g., Simon and Gagnon 1969; Berger 1996 [1982]; Slusher, Mayer, and Dunkle 1996). The expansion of gay and lesbian institutions in recent years has brought with it the development of organizations specializing in the needs of older lesbians and gay men in the urban environment in particular. Among the first and most successful of these is SAGE.

The Circle’s Meetings

The SAGE group met every week; regular participants rarely missed a meeting. The fact that they were always held in the same homey room contributed to the feeling of familiarity. I was not the only new attendee at my first SAGE meeting. All present introduced themselves, and the newcomers explained their reasons for joining the group. I presented myself as an Israeli anthropologist on sabbatical who was interested in gay life and mentioned my book on the gay synagogue. This information did not prompt any questions or comments, so I never again raised the subject. While members were sometimes interested in my experiences as an Israeli, they never inquired about my occupational life. I felt that emphasizing my professional interests would detract from the feeling of comradeship.

As indicated in Chapter 2, the anthropologist conducting research in a Western urban setting resides on a different ethical plateau and may find himself/herself acting somewhat clandestinely. Much later, during a stay in New York in 1999, I was more explicit to the group about my research intentions. Again, this disclosure prompted no demurral on their part. Only one participant, Peter (among the few blacks and who is also encountered in Chapters 2 and 10) approached me after the meeting and showed interest in my work. I was a full participant in the group meetings, in discussions and “sharings,” but avoided revealing intimate details of my life. More than once it was suggested that I take the role of facilitator, but I was careful not to take any leading position. When I returned after a six-month absence, I was welcomed by the old-timers and immediately felt comfortable regardless of the many new faces.

A meeting usually drew about fifteen to twenty members, among whom I gradually identified a core of six to eight men who knew each other well (during my visits in 1999 attendance expanded to nearly thirty participants). Most of the core had been attending for over a year—some for several years. A few, however, had joined the group only shortly before my arrival and soon became regulars. Most attendees were in their late forties to early sixties; only a few infrequent visitors were much younger or older. All were “single,” though many had been involved in longstanding relationships that had ended in death, or more often “divorce.” Almost all regulars were college educated. Most were—or had been before retirement—successfully employed in a wide range of white-collar and professional occupations that included therapy, social work, teaching, sales, administration, and art, among others. With the exception of one churchgoing core member, the others were mostly not actively involved in their religion, including gay congregations. The family background of the participants was Italian, Jewish, and other whites. One regular was African American. I was the only foreigner attending. Rarely did participants mention their ethnic background as part of their presentation of self. During discussions, however, a reference might sometimes be made to an Italian family tradition, for instance. Jewish identity was typically revealed indirectly through joking or using Yiddish terms.

The meetings started at 7:30 p.m. and ended by 9:30, after which all in attendance were invited to adjourn to a nearby diner for drinks or food. Only the regulars, or newcomers who had an interest in future attendance, joined that fellowship, which lasted about an hour. An area at the back of the restaurant was rearranged to enable the group to sit together around one table. While the two-hour meeting at the Center was a structured event led by a facilitator (from among the regular participants), the discussions at the diner were more freewheeling. These late gatherings often included gossip about regulars who did not attend and newcomers who did, as well as personal stories volunteered by those present. This was also an opportunity for core group members to arrange weekend outings to a movie or an exhibition, or plan activities for upcoming holidays. In my observation, these social activities only rarely entailed romantic involvement. Except for a few fleeting encounters—and one regular being suspected of importuning newcomers—I did not hear of dating within the group.

What I proffer in this chapter as well as those following is a second, or perhaps a third, stage in the process of ethnographic construction of the life of the group. I was inevitably selective in the first round, as I wrote down my field notes. I was selective again during the phase of writing the major part of this chapter. However, these leading themes, even if chosen and magnified through my subjective perception, nevertheless introduce an important component of the discussion and events that took place during the many evenings I spent in the company of the SAGE membership.² A few of the major participants, as well as a “sample” of the stories and issues they shared with their veteran and newly arrived colleagues at the weekly meetings, are introduced next.

Love, Sex, and Discontent

The meetings usually started with a go-around. Each participant introduced himself by name and mentioned what had affected him most during the week since they had last met. For the regulars, this represented an updating of the group on key themes in their life histories. The facilitator summed up the major issues raised during the introductions and suggested probing more deeply into one or two themes that seemed most fruitful for a group discussion. One could describe these two-hour meetings as weekly oral diary sessions, filled out and expanded with the help of questions and comments raised by sympathetic listeners.

The participants consistently objected to defining their weekly gatherings as a “support group” or even as “meetings,” a term they associated with Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) or other organizations with a therapeutic element. “This is not a support group, though it isn’t not a support group. We are here in an undefined territory,” Paul, a veteran member, once explained to newcomers. “A good rap group” was the definition preferred by some. Most participants did not consider their meetings as a substitute for therapy, which many were, or had been, in. They sometimes complimented members who had missed therapy in order to attend the group, boosting the group’s morale.

Michael was the facilitator at most meetings he attended. In his mid-forties, he was among the group’s younger members. He was muscular, trim, casually but well dressed, projecting self-assurance. He had a good sense of humor and a pleasant demeanor. He worked in a pharmaceutical laboratory. As I soon learned, he regularly updated the group on his frequent travels abroad, trips that often engaged him in romantic adventures. One weekend trip to Paris was particularly memorable. Soon after settling into his hotel, he made his way to a nearby sauna. There he immediately noticed a good-looking young man. They retired to a private room and had “great sex.” Only then did the young man ask him if he spoke English. To their mutual surprise and fun, it turned out they were both from New York, where they were almost next-door neighbors. They had a date the same evening at a popular club. The next day Michael checked out of his hotel and spent the last night with his new mate in his luxurious company-provided residence. By the same extraordinary coincidence, they were booked on the same flight to New York, and Michael was dropped off at his doorstep by the limousine that awaited his new friend at JFK—ending a dreamlike sexual and emotional weekend affair.

That was the good part of the story. The bad news Michael had already been aware of: his weekend date was in a nearly ten-year relationship with an older man. The couple had problems and seemed on the brink of separation, but even so, his date would not let Michael call him at home and gave him only his office number. Michael told him he was available for a serious relationship and the “ball was now in his court.”

Michael, who was himself now involved with a “part time” lover in Seattle whom he had met in New York through mutual friends, cheerfully summed up his love life: “I have two part-timers: 50 percent in Seattle and [referring to his Paris partner], 25 percent in New York.” It raised laughter and sympathetic metaphors reminiscent of old melodramas such as Back Street.

One of the most committed regulars in the group observed that Michael always initiated his love affairs as a tourist or with tourists from out of town, which, he concluded, indicated self-inflicted failure. “Why is it that we meet men we desire in remote places?” and “Aren’t there nice men in New York?” were comments reiterated by a few listeners. Michael responded by quoting a friend’s conclusion that “all the nice men are married.” Others took issue: “Is it true?” “After all, all the men in our own group are single!”

Michael then related another friend’s suggestion—rejecting it resentfully—that he should not be too choosy and pick up the first reasonably suitable man he could find because it would be more and more difficult for him to meet an attractive mate. Tony, an artist in his early sixties who had recently joined the group, reacted strongly against that “defeatist idea.” He cited his own recent decision to leave his lover of two years, a very good-looking and much younger man. His friends were astonished to see him make that move, but he claimed there was no evidence that older men could not be passionately loved by younger men. Jack, a core member in his late fifties, seconded this view: his two former lovers were both ten years younger. Tony then declared: “There are thousands of men out there. Everyday we come across many new men. Why should we settle for less than we deserve?” It was mostly a matter of the way “we see ourselves,” he concluded.

A few weeks later Michael reported he was preparing for a trip to Greece. He had had a difficult week. He was torn again by the dilemma of whether to make a career change. He had decided to separate from his part-time Seattle lover and had not heard lately from the young man he met in Paris. Jack reacted with emotion. He lamented Michael’s decision to give up his Seattle lover. He had hoped, instead, that one or the other would eventually “move his ass” to New York or Seattle.

Michael’s trip to Greece ended without a new romantic encounter to report. He declared he wasn’t going to settle for half a loaf. He had given up on the man from Paris and spoke critically of those who could not go on with their lives without some sort of a mate, even if evidently unsatisfactory. He also voiced a complaint about people who come to their meetings, look around, and leave immediately or attend once and never come back because they do not find anyone they are attracted to. Picking up on the theme, Henry, a newcomer in his late forties, a divorced lawyer I had met before at the Gay Fathers Forum, argued that the men he observed in other groups were always desperately looking for Mr. Right. He thought they should instead just get together to discuss issues of shared interest. Inevitably, they would meet Mr. Right. He was out there, but one had to have the right attitude and patience. Tony, the artist, cited his own motivation for becoming a SAGE Circle regular: he found the meetings enjoyable. Considering Tony’s good looks, extrovert manner, and successful career, one could accept the implication that he had other opportunities and was not attending in order to meet a partner.

Paul, in his early sixties, frequently acted as facilitator in Michael’s absence. He was far less revealing about himself except for the endless minor calamities in his household affairs—leaking pipes, loss of keys, and computer crashes. He sometimes mentioned some details from his past life and lovers, but only as comments on other participants’ stories. A man of somewhat distinguished appearance who now lived alone, he had no regrets about his earlier years. In his retirement he was engaged in a late career in musical composition and was active in organizing occasional weekend and holiday outings to museums or the movies, which included some of the veteran participants. I also occasionally met him at other Center activities. Although he spoke little and avoided emotional outbursts, his comments, offered in a very restrained tone, were often instrumental in facilitating a smooth continuation of meetings that lacked an evocative theme for a more lively discussion, and thus saved the gathering from early dispersal. Reserved and analytical, he would have been a good candidate had the group required a professional facilitator.

In his late fifties, Jack was a dedicated regular for whom SAGE was his only gay circle in New York. He divided his life, as well as his public identity, between gay and straight. He considered himself gay but was closeted at work, at home, in his church, and in his community. He was in the thirtieth year of a happy marriage to a woman who had long ago discovered his other life but remained with him after he promised never to “shame” her. Their two sons were unaware of their father’s secret life, and although married, they remained very close to their parents. Jack’s robust, extrovert manner, his avowed loyalty to his church, and his conservative attitudes in various spheres gave no clue—stereotypically—to his homosexuality. But for many years, apart for the SAGE weekly participation, Jack acted out his gay identity also at his cottage on the New Jersey shore. His family and friends tolerated his dedication to his beach retreat as a special addiction that did no harm. Here Jack enjoyed complete freedom to express his sexual orientation. He sometimes invited friends and new acquaintances from SAGE meetings out to his house, but more often he looked for male company at the bars and beaches in his Jersey community. Over the years, he had shared the house with two lovers, with each of whom he had had long partnerships before separating. He still lamented the loss of his partners who left him as they looked for full-time lovers.

At most meetings Jack related experiences from the preceding weekend stay at his cottage. He had a reputation in the group as an incurable romantic and a relentless seeker of a love-based relationship. He was convinced he had no desire for one-night stands. Nevertheless, he experimented with occasional dates, particularly since most patrons at gay establishments located around his weekend retreat represented a more reliable clientele, well off and older than the bar regulars in New York City. He felt close to the old-timers, including those who were not really “his cup of tea.” He was particularly happy with the arrival of Tony, whose Italian ethnic tradition soon made him a close pal.

A large but unprepossessing man in his mid-fifties, John seemed less educated than most other regulars. He was often described as a tireless cruiser and was once reprimanded by Michael, who noticed him leaving a meeting for a long break, which he assumed John spent at another Center activity checking out the men there. John apologized, embarrassed as a schoolboy caught doing something naughty. At one meeting he spoke of his recent vacation in Mexico. Once there, he confessed, he had wasted no time in searching for sex and had a good time with young local men whom he soon met at the nearby plaza. His sexual adventures were safe and inexpensive but left him no time to visit the ancient ruins he wished to see. John was open about his attraction to young men, a desire he could not easily satisfy in New York. Someone in the group asked John why he didn’t invite one of these accommodating “boys” home with him to New York.

Sam, a college administrator in his mid-fifties, was a prominent regular whose follies nevertheless commanded respect. He was a man of striking physical presence, tall and heavy, with a generous and humorous manner. At the first meeting I saw him, he was edgy and related the troubles of the day—noisy neighbors who incessantly made his life intolerable and his closest friend’s arrest for causing a public disturbance due to his alcoholism. About a month later Sam happily told the group that he had invited a gorgeous heterosexual young man he met at an AA meeting to stay at his apartment rent-free. His adoring description was confirmed later the same evening when the charming houseguest joined Sam at the post-meeting get-together.

Sam happily indulged his new friend. He had already spent a few thousand dollars on him. A member of the group hearing this jokingly complained: “You gave me only $5 for a blow job, but you showered this heterosexual with $3,000!” Sam replied: “Yes, but I have love.” Sam rented a luxury car and gave it to his new friend to drive them around. Together they saw the sights outside New York. But Sam’s happiness was short-lived. A few weeks later he was deep in trouble. His handsome friend had disappeared with the car, and Sam was accountable for its loss. He now discovered that his dream boy had already ripped off others, men and women alike, who were victims of his charms. Sometime later, after the man turned himself in to the police and was awaiting trial for a long list of other felonies, Sam told us his heart was hurting. He wished he could have him released from jail. He had enjoyed so much opening his heart to the young man, who gratified him with affection, calling him “Dad.” His listeners reacted with a mixture of amazement and empathy.

Irving, a sixty-year-old university history professor, a regular, prominent not for his physical bearing but for his sagacity, humor, and sharp analyses of his colleagues’ behavior, seemed less sympathetic to Sam’s plight. In a critical tone he told Sam he should have exerted more self-control against this irrational and destructive attraction. Sam reacted angrily to Irving’s reprimand: “You should allow people to show their feelings and let others listen to them.” Paul defended Sam, referring to the themes of irrationality, chaos, and the incompatibility of reason and emotion in his own musical compositions. For myself, I was ambivalent. I was appalled by Sam’s self-inflicted injury but felt empathy for his predicament. I offered support for Sam, likening his compulsive attraction to a charming heterosexual—and a crook at that—to the aging professor’s pathetic attraction to the handsome young boy in Death in Venice.

From their interaction at the meeting, I assumed Irving and Sam represented two fundamentally contradictory personalities with little to breach their contrasting temperaments. Yet I soon had an opportunity to discover I was wrong. As we walked together after the meeting to the nearby diner we saw a group of transsexuals who had just left the Center. I was surprised to overhear Irving joke with Sam about the miyeskeyts (Yiddish for “uglies”). Cooling off from their heated exchange, they enjoyed a campy conversation that made use of a shared ethnic vocabulary. Sam and Irving, in fact, had a far warmer relationship than I first assumed. At the diner following the meetings, they often entertained the crowd with their campy impersonations of Carmen Miranda and other gay icons.