Date: Thu, 20 Jul 2006 22:14:35 -0700 (PDT)
From: Joseph Smith <gaymormonwriter@yahoo.com>
Subject: Love and Death in Venice  Chapter One

"Death in Venice" is one of those movies you can't forget. I saw it for the
first time when I was twenty-years-old. I had just moved to Indianapolis in
1972. I took my only day off and went to the Woodlands Theatre to see the
movie. I met the guys running the theatre. Years later, they would run a
nice small circuit of their own. I was only one of about twelve in the
audience. I knew it was a gay themed movie, but I watched it with
interest. Even with the thoughts in my own head, I didn't get the subtext
of the movie itself; not then.

Now, the DVD box caption states that it is "The Celebrated Story of A Man
Obsessed".  Then, it must have been beyond my years, since I really didn't
appreciate the love story or the obsession.  Luchino Visconti directed this
film at the age of 65. He would only make three more movies before his
death in 1976. The movie, based on Thomas Mann's story tells of a man who
fell for a very beautiful, young teen-aged boy.  I bought a copy and I
began to watch it for the first time in 33 years; viewing it with different
eyes and more maturity.

The movie is about a lonely man on holiday in Venice, where his obsession
begins. Between the man and the young boy, no words are ever spoken. The
man looks and watches, even stares. The boy looks back, offers gentle
gestures and poses for the man. Were there signals between them? Maybe. I
thought back to Chase and the signals he gave me, or the ones I thought I
gave him. The ones I thought meant something. For many years, things were
unspoken that way between us. Here I am living in Venice, but not in Italy;
in Florida.

Not far from the water's edge of the Gulf, I often go to the beach to sit
and listen to the water and the wind. Of all the places on this earth I
have found, those sounds are still the most natural for me. They are not
manufactured by voice or mankind, but are the same sounds that have existed
since the birth of this planet. I reflected on my life in the sun's warmth
and the water's soothing touch, about my life, its loves, its happiness,
its sadness. I think of those that I have cared about and grieve for those
I have lost.  I think about him everyday; the first man I was ever with
that I loved and cared about, and the last.

*****************************************************************************

It was 1996 and I had just transferred to Dallas, Texas to run one of the
theatres that sat outside the city in one of its local suburbs. It was
simply called the Cinema 6. Unfortunately, it stood just ten miles from one
of the first megaplexes that were starting to be built in the country. The
new theater complex had 20 screens, and I knew it would eventually close
the Cinema 6. I had only been on the job for about a week, in April, when a
nice looking young man came in with his application. I interviewed and
hired him on the spot.

Chase Lindley was a strapping sixteen-year-old. He stood about six feet
tall and weighed around 165 pounds. Brown hair and blue eyes highlighted
his slightly rugged face. I had him trained in the concession stand and box
office. It was upstairs, in the projection booth, that he picked up the
threading of a projector quickly and soon was tearing down and building up
film. It was there in the projection booth that we had many of our
conversations about religion, politics and gays. I never thought for a
moment that Chase could be gay.  He was too straight, or so I thought.

We talked about our lives. Mine story took a lot longer.

I told him about my life growing up, leaving out my sexual experimentations
and experiences, even the crushes I had with some of the boys I knew. My
first three years in high school were hell. But it played into the fact
that I never felt like I belonged anywhere or with anyone. I was the boy
who got picked on, who had hardly any friends; the lonely outcast. Going to
church was part of my early routine, but even there I felt unwanted. I soon
found myself in my teen years, feeling isolated from my own family. I knew
why I was different, but I would never admit it to anyone or myself.

When I was seventeen I was hired to work at the local movie theater. I
found a refuge there. A place where I finally felt I belonged. There I was
the happiest, the first I could ever remember. I discovered myself, in some
ways, by working there. I developed self-confidence and the belief that I
could accomplish whatever I wanted.

My dreams of going to college were dashed because my parents never saved
any money for my brothers or me. I had really wanted a college education so
that I could teach American History.  But, once I knew I was on my own so
to speak, I discovered a great love for the motion picture theater and
decided to pursue that as my career choice. When I was eighteen, I was
hired at a drive-in theater as a snack bar manager. I realized that I would
have to learn to run the projection booth equipment, believing that someday
it would be required of all managers. I went through a number of jobs just
to learn everything I could, as fast as I could.

When I was nineteen, I went to work for a company that ran X-rated movie
theaters. The job was in Cincinnati, where I lived at the downtown YMCA. I
spent six months there wasting my talents, but the pay was decent. The
theatre always had some sort of picketers. The Cincinnati Decency League or
the projectionists union would walk the sidewalk in front of the
theater. When they did, I brought out the letter pole for the marquee and
would change the sign, blocking their paths. The law said they had to keep
moving. Several months later I was transferred back to Dayton where I
worked for several more weeks before they let me go.

But, during those months of running pornography, I learned more about
heterosexual sex than I did when I took the Father/Son course at the "Y"
when I was ten. I watched every sexual act imaginable and the men in those
films who were always hung and usually cut. They finally bored me after
awhile.

General Cinema Corporation gave me my first management position in 1972. I
was an assistant manager making a reasonable salary of $125 a week. It was
barely enough to survive but I learned.

I was still a virgin, technically. I had no experience with a female and my
experience with males was limited to mutual masturbation and some oral sex
on my part but, then, I didn't know what I was doing. I knew I was
attracted to guys, but I feared it immensely. I swore to myself that I
would at least `try' it with a female.

Leaving General Cinema after nine months, I was hired to manage my first
theater for a small independent company. That lasted six months before an
offer from United Cinema came along. I was given what used to be a Jerry
Lewis Cinema. My first day there I saw my future wife. Her name was Karen
and she worked for the cleaning company. I was talking to a salesmen when
she came out of the Ladies Room, and when she walked by me the thought came
immediately to my mind that she would be the mother of my children.

It would be five months before we had sex for the first time. I was
terrible since I offered no foreplay. All I could think about was putting
it in and seeing if I could do it. I was hard and she guided me in and I
was amazed, not by the feeling of sex, but that I was actually having
sexual intercourse. We started sleeping together at my place, not
necessarily having sex.  However, when we did, I started to feel rather
than think.  My heart warmed when she fell asleep in my arms the first
night. I felt, for what seemed like the first time, that I belonged
somewhere with someone.

Sixteen months after my first sexual experience with Karen, we married. Ten
months later my son was born. Karen barely made it through the
pregnancy. Karen had congenital heart disease. Aortic Stenosis was such a
rare condition that whenever she was in a hospital, every doctor and nurse
came to listen to her heart. For most of the physicians, it was considered
unlikely that they would ever come across a patient with this condition. At
night, in bed with her, I never needed a stethoscope to hear her heart. It
sounded like an old rusty pump, with a swish, pushing blood as hard as it
could.

After two heart failures during the pregnancy, the doctors did a heart
catheterization after my son was born. I was told she had less than two
years to live if she didn't have surgery. We were referred to the Cleveland
Clinic. The specialists there didn't want to do surgery until she
absolutely needed it. With recommendations from her heart specialists, she
applied for Social Security Disability benefits and was approved. The
benefit wasn't huge but it was enough to help us financially, since being a
theater manager didn't make enough to support a family, at least until the
mid 1980's.

Early in our marriage, I realized I had fallen in love with Karen. We grew
together, closely, like a tightly knitted blanket, each finding comfort and
love in the other. She put up with a lot from me. I moved her twenty-six
times in sixteen years. She hung in there, supporting, encouraging, and
trusting me.

Finally, after fifteen years, surgery was indicated. I was working in Utah
at the time, and she was placed under the care of the physicians at the
University of Utah Medical Center. Due to complications from the surgery,
she passed away five days later and it broke my heart. She had told me
weeks before not to grieve for her; I gave her hell for that, telling her
she had no right to say that. I told her I would grieve and grieve hard for
her. I had no idea how hard that would really be. The first day, I prayed
to God about her. The first night was unbearable. Even with a house full of
people, I never felt more alone then I did that night. My body ached, my
eyes cried and my heart wouldn't let me find peace. Because of my self
concerns, I was blind to the extreme devastation my fifteen-year-old son
was experiencing.

Twenty-nine months later I remarried, separated after four months and
divorced in six. After that wife, I swore to myself I would never touch
another woman. A year later I was in Dallas.

Chase got the watered down PG rated version of my life's story. His life,
pretty much rated G was much simpler than mine. At sixteen, he was the
third of five sons. His father was a Southern Baptist preacher and his
mother a homemaker who loved working with herbs and all things
natural. Chase was the only son who had expressed an interest in following
his father's footsteps, and was preparing himself to study for the
ministry. He convinced me to go to church with him and his family. I felt
that I was spiritual and that I had a relationship with God, though not
always close.  Having been raised in the Presbyterian Church, it didn't
seem all that different to me, though the preachers here could be more
dramatic than back home. I went only a few times, but felt way out of place
as usual. After the main service, I always made my getaway through the
nearest exit door.

In the months that followed, Chase and I became close friends. He invited
me over for dinner with his family a couple of times, and I accepted. I
enjoyed the company of his parents immensely. They always went out their
way to make me feel welcome. During this time I felt odd being old enough
to be his father, and yet carry-on like we were life long buddies. When I
transferred to Waco to run my first megaplex, it was there that God and I
had a long talk one night. I had struggled with my sexual feelings since
the divorce. I fought every moment with God to avoid admitting anything. I
knew He knew me better than anyone; better even than me. I cried at the
final realization that I was gay. Hours on my knees, next to my bed, I
confessed everything to Him. I felt the inner warmth of release as my
resistance fell away. I had peace of mind, finally. God and I had an
understanding.

I knew in my heart that if Karen had lived, there would be no doubt that we
would still be together. But God had her now, and I had to keep going on
with my life. I was 44 years old so I hit the Internet to learn everything
I could about the gay lifestyle. I learned by reading stories on Nifty, the
good ones I could find that spoke of love. I also read of the cruelty some
guys can exhibit. I read about sex in all its explicit details. Gay.com was
the first place I found to chat with other gay men. It was here that I met
a guy about forty miles away who would provide me with my first real
man-to-man sexual experience. And so began my slow progression into living
my life as a gay man.

In Waco, with my sexual reawakening, I found my place. I loved the town and
the theater. Promotion of films became a benchmark for my term there. I got
recognition beyond my wildest dreams. Chase would call and come visit me. I
found another apartment closer to the theatre and moved. Chase insisted on
helping me move. So the three of us, including my son, moved my
things. Chase stayed a few days.

It was on the second day, while my son was at work that it happened. I was
sitting in the living room with the television on.  Chase came downstairs
and walked in. Suddenly, I felt the most intense sexual tension.  I didn't
understand it and couldn't figure where it came from. I had never looked at
Chase in a sexual way before. It lasted for only a few minutes, but it
scared the hell out of me. I would never forget it.

During this time, Chase would give me heck for not calling him. He always
called me. I felt awkward with the idea of a middle-aged man calling a
teenager at his home. He told me that his parents were cool about our
friendship. It still didn't relieve my anxiety about it.

After sixteen months in Waco, I was offered a new theatre in Orlando,
Florida. I accepted; a decision I later would regret. I didn't let Chase
know I was leaving Texas. He found me though. I figured he would. We agreed
to stay in contact. It amazed me that he wanted to continue our
friendship. One Sunday morning, after being in Florida for seven months, he
called me. It was a conversation I would never forget either.

"Hello," I said, answering the phone from a deep sleep.

"Hey there," he said, recognizing his voice.

I glanced at the clock radio and said, "Hey, why aren't you in church?"

"My father won't let me come right now."

"Why not?"

"I got into trouble with him."

"I can't imagine you ever being in trouble with your Dad," I said.

I heard him breathing softly for a few moments before he said, "I got into
some personal integrity trouble."

"Well, that could only have to be drugs or sex," I said, jokingly.

"It wasn't drugs."

Sex! A healthy eighteen-year-old boy with hormones found his own
discoveries, I thought.

"Wow! Chase. Some girl had her way with you," I said, with a chuckle.

The next few words were ones I never expected to hear, at least not from
Chase.

"It wasn't with a girl."

A ton of bricks could have smashed down on me with no greater force then
those words. I was so dumbfounded and stunned. The realization that Chase
had sex with another male just blew me away. A rash of emotions flooded
over me. I realized that Chase had taken our friendship from the level of
casual to personal. Chase was telling me he was gay, or was he?

"You had sex with another guy, Chase?"

"Yes."

Being the wiser and older person here in this conversation, I felt like I
had to choose my words carefully.

"Was this a one time thing?"

"No."

"How long has it been going on?" "Since I got my drivers license."

"The whole time you worked for me?"

"Yes. I would go to the city park and get picked up by middle-aged guys."

Oh, shit, I thought.

"What happened? How did your Dad find out?"

"On my eighteenth birthday. We were talking in his study about college and
my future. He asked me if I had kept myself sexually pure, to wait for
marriage which is something he had encouraged my brothers and me to do."

I felt his hesitation as he sighed into the phone.

"I don't lie," he said, almost in a whisper. "I told him I hadn't."

I found myself putting my heart out to him, feeling sympathy for his words.

"How much did you tell him?"

"Everything."

"Oh Chase," I said. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm okay."

"So what was his reaction?"

"He asked me if I thought I was homosexual. I told him no."

"You're not gay, Chase?" I asked, a little confused.

"No, I'm not. It's just a phase."

I wondered if he truly believed that.

"How many men have you been with?"

"More than twenty."

"How far have you gone with them?"

"Most of them have just been oral. Though I have done anal with some of
them. I always top."

"Are you attracted to older guys, Chase?"

"Yeah, guys my father's age."

I started to listen to his voice. It was different then all the other times
I had spoken to him. Its tone was of guarded uncertainty.

"So what did your father do then?"

"He took me to a doctor to be tested for STD's. I tested clean. I am seeing
two therapists. I was diagnosed with manic depression. I'm on three
different prescriptions."

"What are the therapists trying to do with you?"

"With one, I mostly talk about myself, growing up and such. The second one
is working on my sexual orientation. I think he is trying to determine if I
am really gay or not. I'm not."

"Does he believe that?"

"I really don't care if he does."

My mind was racing with all these thoughts of him being defiant and in
denial, a personality I hadn't ever seen before.

"How are things with your mother and brothers?"

"Not good. Mom hardly speaks to me now. My brothers seem distant."

"How do you feel?"

"I guess, indifferent. If they want to act that way, it's their
problem. Not mine."

"Are you still going to the park?"

"Yes."

"Sounds like it's more then a phase."

"I know what I'm doing. I like it. But I can stop anytime I want to."

"Why did you tell me about all of this, Chase?"

"I thought I could trust you. I thought about our conversations when I
worked for you, and thought you might be gay. Are you gay?"

Despite the fact that Chase knew my history, my liberal thoughts must have
had him wondering. How do I answer that question? Do I really want to go
there with him right now?

"No. I'm not, Chase."

"Damn. I could have sworn you were," he said, with frustration in his
voice.

Someday, I thought we would have that conversation about me, but not here
on the phone. It's not the way I want to do it.

"I'm sorry, Chase," I said, with a meaning I'm sure he didn't get.

"I just thought you were," he said, sounding defeated.

The phone line was quiet as, I was sure, that both of us were in deep
thought.

"Can I come see you?" he asked.

"Sure," I said. "Anytime."

I had a feeling if he came to see me, I would be tested, that his
attraction for older guys included me and if he visited me, how would I
control myself since I was attracted to younger guys. I never imagined
being with anyone as young as he was. He was only eighteen I kept telling
myself.

The conversation ended and I spent the next few days wondering what had
happened. I didn't hear from him after that. Since I felt Florida wasn't
right for me and I missed Texas with a passion, I took a transfer back to
Dallas five months after Chase's phone call.

I didn't call Chase to let him know I was back in Texas; I knew he would
find out.

Ever resourceful, he did find me, but it took longer than I expected. I
felt anxious when we were finally talking on the phone. Not letting my
voice give me away, I struggled to maintain my composure. I wanted to see
him. It would be the first time since finding out about him and I felt that
I had to be his friend, acting as his confident, hoping he would trust me.

We agreed to meet at my apartment the next day about six o'clock. When I
opened the door, I wasn't prepared for what I saw.


The end of Chapter 1