SoMa Literary Review - A Brief Affair on Telegraph Hill

A Brief Affair on Telegraph Hill

By Michael Jordan

Looking back when I had just turned twenty-two, I opened the door of my closeted life. I remember an affair I had with another young gay man, Kevin. We originally had been casual acquaintances in a choreography class in the drama department at a community college. I had enrolled in another beginning acting class, a ceramics class, a drawing class, and a fiction writing class. They were not exactly the kinds of classes preparing a student for a profitable career. I felt like exploring the arts to become more acquainted with myself. The writing class had been my primary interest; the others just kind of fell in place. My naïve intuition led me to believe my ceramics instructor, Mr. Pillar, and choreography teacher, Mr. Pierre Marat, each led a gay lifestyle. My curiosity later propelled me further into gay relationships, although I had no idea or expectations of what it would at this time.

Classes proceeded with all my interest thriving. Politics about the anti-war movement concerning Viet Nam intervened. After the killings of students at Jackson State University and Kent State University, a nationwide protest evolved into a strike. Many students stopped attending college classes. With my beliefs strongly imbedded in pacifism and speaking out against the Viet Nam War, I joined other students in classes at the community college and went on strike. Classes carried on with many students in attendance, but I was one of many who worked on rallies and meetings. The strike carried on for the remainder of the semester. Many of the instructors felt sympathetic with the strike. Fortunately, my grades came through with either passing scores or A’s. My ceramics and choreography instructors gave me A’s.

Summer session arrived. After a blow-up with my mother about my sexual orientation, I moved away from home and became, more or less, a gay transient. My nights often found me frequenting gay bars in the North Beach area of San Francisco. North Beach had the mystique of the previous Beat generation, which had drawn my interest when I was in high school. Upper Grant Avenue had all the markings of an underground cultural experience. It appealed to me, and my potential as a writer. Although I shyly stood in corners inside the various gay bars, I usually had the fortune to be taken to someone’s apartment or room to spend the night for sexual endeavors.

One night while approaching my favorite hangout, Kevin, the student from my junior college choreography class reached out and grabbed my arm. “F. Scott,” he said, "are you going inside this place?”

Still feeling somewhat uncomfortable about my gay status, I replied, “Well, yeah.” I tried to act as natural as I could.

“Let me go in and join you for a beer,” Kevin insisted.

Neither one of us had suspected that we were both gay. We found a corner and stood talking about each other’s gay lives. The next bombshell hit me with surprise. Kevin told me that he lived with our choreography teacher, Mr. Pierre Marat. An additional partner involved with Kevin and Mr. Marat surprised me more. Mr. Marat had a lover, William, of equal age, and Kevin and they were part of a ménage a trios. I had never had a lengthy relationship with another man. The story unfolding caught me not only with surprise, but with an innocence sense of shock and bewilderment.

As we finished a beer, and then a second, Kevin invited me up to the apartment, which they all inhabited. Interested, but very bashful, I thought this too big a step in sexual experience for me. Then, Kevin explained that Mr. Marat, and his lover, William, had been spending their summer in New York . Kevin had the apartment all to himself. Seeming intrigued, and, definitely attracted to Kevin with his beautiful blond hair, I accepted his invitation for at least this one night.

We departed the bar. We walked a few blocks up Upper Grant and turned right up a very steep hill. When we arrived nearly to the top of the street, we entered a flat that stood across the street from Coit Tower. The location impressed me. The flat had several rooms, mostly decorated quite conservatively but still giving a lived in feeling.

We slept and had very good mutual sex for two, horny twenty-two year olds. The excitement did not stop there. Kevin and I talked freely and openly as if we had been best buddies for years and had just reconnected. In our discussions, I learned that Pierre and William had come from New York originally. William aspired to become a Broadway playwright. The connection between Pierre and William seemed appropriate and fitting. Just where Kevin came in I could not venture to inquire. I just assumed he was a youthful companion, who aspired to become an actor with two older men and their lust. Everyone gay to me had feelings of lust. It appeared quite legitimate and natural.

Late the next morning after another round of sexual fun, with Kevin learning of my transient existence, he asked me to share the apartment for a month or two. Feeling somewhat awkward but enthralled with Kevin and the whole mysterious setup, I agreed.

We spent our days and nights enjoying sex like two of the best sex buddies I had ever encountered. We talked and listened to records of Broadway shows, Judy garland, and Billie Holiday. We read books and had more sex. I selected “Lady Sings the Blues”, the biography of Billie Holiday, as one book I remembered reading that summer. After listening to her records and reading her book, a new exposure to other gay men’s interests surfaced within me.

With both of us short on funds, we occasionally dined at Clown Alley on hamburgers and cokes. Sometimes, we had fish and chips at Edna’s. Although I had a VW bug, we walked often around North Beach . On one of our strolls down to Broadway, Kevin impressed me with an introduction to a very short but huge busted lady. She was a friend of Pierre and William’s. When Carol Doda, the notorious topless dancer and club owner, greeted me sweetly, my star struck reaction caught me fumbling for any words to contribute as Kevin and Carol chatted casually as neighbors. She resided not far from the Telegraph Hill apartment where Kevin, Pierre and William lived.

One weekend, Kevin suggested we drive to Sacramento. He had been given four complimentary tickets to see another friend of theirs in a play. In later years, I would remember the star. Kay Medford seemed just like an actress I knew nothing about. Kevin invited two girls from one of Mr. Pierre’s drama classes to join us. My VW bug was to be the means of transportation for this Sunday performance. Not knowing the best highway to deliver us, I chose a scenic route through the delta, over bridges and through tracts of farming islands. I got us almost totally lost. Feeling panicked that we might miss the show, Kevin wisely consulted a map, and steered me with the right directions to make it on time. Susie and Kim as aspiring actresses talked. They joked like slapstick comedians, keeping Kevin and me laughing in stitches for the duration of this driving adventure.

I do not remember much of the musical that day. I had never been a big fan of Broadway musicals at that time. With me more of a secretive and mysterious writer, Broadway shows seemed too much of Pollyanna for me. After the performance, Kay Medford had promised to share some coffee with all four of us. Once again, I was awestruck. I allowed Kevin, Susie and Kim to carry the bulk of the conversation. Of course, Miss Medford inquired about Pierre and William. At that point I felt like hiding my presence and my relationship with Kevin. As Kevin explained our close ties, she didn’t bat an eye. She just talked more about theater and acting on a personal level. She asked what Susie and Kim had planned to do. They enthusiastically informed her that they both had auditions with a new show to begin in San Francisco under the leadership of a man called Steven Silver. The show had the title of “Beach Blanket Babylon”. In later years I would learn, that this show became an overnight sensation. To this day, the show continues to entertain audiences and has made Kim a big star. With visitors coming from near and far, Kim and the cast of Beach Blanket Babylon continue to entertain their zany comedy.

Sadly, we returned to San Francisco with the mood not as riotous as it had been.

That summer came drawing to an ultimate close. William and Pierre would be returning home to their flat with Kevin on Telegraph Hill. It was time for me to leave that flat. Both of us had decided that we would look for full-time jobs, rather than returning to classes at the community college. With both of us pounding the streets to seek employment, we both knew we lacked enough credentials for many jobs. We both agreed to apply for one specific job in the financial district with an insurance company. We did not know that there was only one position available for hire. We both wished each other good luck for the single position, for our friendship had not been competitive. I had shaved off my beard. My hair by those current day’s standards was too long. Nervously we awaited the results of our interviews.

Kevin was supportive and kind that day we learned that I had landed the job. I assured him he would find something soon. He told me he was okay. If he did not get a job, he could still go to classes with Mr. Pierre Marat. He still had a place to live with William and Pierre.

I bought a short styled wig to conceal my long hair. I sold my VW bug. I rented a small, furnished studio apartment on Nob Hill. I had a job, my own place to live in San Francisco. I could continue to write, like I had always planned.

Years later Kevin and I crossed paths. His relationship with Mr. Marat and William had ended some time ago. Both of us had had several other long relationships by gay standards of the seventies and early eighties. Later, I became saddened while reading a newspaper. Kevin had become a victim of AIDS. I feel lucky that I had that brief affair in the summer of 1970 with Kevin. It may have been casual sex we shared, but we were friends, too. I will always have a fond memory for Kevin and the summer of 1970 on Telegraph Hill and the friendship we had.

Michael Jordan lived, worked, and wrote while in San Francisco for twenty years. He now lives in the East Bay and is currently writing a novel about a gay couple on a cruise ship.