Blog Image

David C Dawson's blog

Archibald

Musings Posted on Thu, July 25, 2019 09:16:57

He’s battered and frayed, he’s lost an eye and some of his stuffing is beginning to leak out.

I’ve put him on the shelf by the TV, where I can always see him when I sit here. His one button eye, squinting at me.

John said he was the first toy he ever had when he was a baby. But I can’t believe that. I mean, he’s got button eyes that are wired in. You don’t give that to a baby. It’s not safe.

It doesn’t matter. John gave him to me, that first Christmas when we moved in here, five years ago. “A bear for a bear,” he said. His most treasured possession, and he gave him to me. John said his sister had called him Archibald Bear, so that’s always been his name.

Marion, John’s sister, is the only one from his family who’s ever kept in touch. She came to visit us soon after we moved to LA. John’s mom and dad never did. They didn’t want to meet me. He used to go visit them once a year, alone, usually just before Thanksgiving. They live up in Oregon.

Marion was here, the night John was shot. There was a knock at the door. I was in the bathroom and John was out, so Marion answered it.

I heard men’s voices. Then I heard her kind of moan, like an almost animal cry. When I came into the living room, there were two cops there. They’d just told her about the shooting. Marion was all hunched up on the couch, just hugging herself and rocking.

When we got to the hospital, the medics said they were doing everything they could. But he died. John died at 8:23pm on Thursday the 10th June.

The hospital said it wasn’t possible for me to see his body, as I wasn’t related. I said I’d been his boyfriend for nearly six years. But they said that didn’t count. They needed the permission of his parents.

His mom and dad arrived the next day. Marion went to meet them at LA X, and they took a cab straight to the hospital. They didn’t let me see his body.

Marion rang me to say his mom was coming to the apartment to collect all John’s things and take them back home. I said we shared everything. We were practically married for chrissake.

John’s mom didn’t fight about it. She said she just wanted some pictures, a few of his clothes and John’s old baseball stuff, from college days. I hid Archibald, so I got to keep him.

They wouldn’t let me go to the funeral. Jeez, they wouldn’t even tell me when it was. Marion called to say it was happening, but she said it was probably best I didn’t go. John’s dad was looking to cut up real rough and was talking about getting a court order to exclude me. John used to tell me his dad is devout Presbyterian and uses words like abomination and crap like that.

Marion had a big row with them about the funeral. She’s moved out to Seattle now and won’t talk to any of her family. When you think about it, she’s not only lost her kid brother, but the whole lot of them. She’s coming down to stay in a few weeks. I think I’ll give her Archibald.



Father Christmas gets the flu

Musings Posted on Fri, December 01, 2017 12:56:01

Father Christmas had the flu.

He felt terrible.

His big, shiny nose was blocked. His
body ached, and he felt both hot and cold, all at the same time.

He lay in his bed at Lapland House, with
a thermometer under his tongue. Doctor Bilzi stood beside the bed, and held
Father Christmas’s wrist. He tutted, shook his head, and removed the
thermometer from Father Christmas’s mouth. He examined the thermometer, and
tutted again.

“You mustn’t move from here, Father
Christmas,” he said. “You’ve got a very high temperature, and your body needs
lots of rest.”

Father Christmas groaned.

“But it’s the twenty-second of
December,” he said. “ In two days time I have to fly around the world and give
toys to all the children.”

Doctor Bilzi shook his head.

“You won’t be well enough to do that,”
he said. “You’ll just have to cancel Christmas this year.”

Father Christmas sat up in bed. He was
very angry.

“That’s impossible,” he cried. He held
his hand up to his head, groaned, and slumped back onto the pillow.

“Oh, I feel terrible.” He closed his
eyes. “What am I to do?”

That night, Father Christmas could not
sleep. He tossed and turned as he fretted about what to do. Just after three
o’clock in the morning, he sat bolt upright in bed.

“That’s it,” he said out loud. “That’s
what I’ll do.”

He lay back on the pillow, and slept
soundly until morning.

News that Father Christmas was ill
spread quickly through the Lapland toy factory. It was next door to Lapland
House, and on the next morning a great crowd gathered outside the house,
keeping watch in silence.

Hundreds of elves who worked in the
factory, grooms who worked in the reindeer stables, and packers who worked in
parcel despatch stood waiting for news.

“Perhaps we can delay Christmas until
he’s better,” whispered the ribbon and wrapping supervisor, a tall elf with a
green pointed hat topped with a white pompom. “My team needs a couple of extra
days to get everything finished.”

“But think of the scandal if we do,”
said the groom standing next to him. “Rudolph and the rest of the reindeer will
be so unpopular if the children have to wait for their toys. They must be delivered
by Christmas morning.”

“Shh,” said a soft toy stuffer behind
them. “Look. He’s coming out on to the balcony.”

The crowd looked up as two heavy wooden
doors on the first floor of Lapland House opened. Father Christmas walked
slowly onto the balcony. He was wrapped in two large white duvets, and he had a
big red hat on his head. He shuffled forward, and grasped the rail of the
balcony with his plump red hands.

Father Christmas started to speak, but
no one in the crowd could hear him. His voice was very weak, and he was too far
away.

There was a commotion behind him, and an
elf in a bright yellow suit scurried out onto the balcony. He carried a chair
in one hand, and a large plastic megaphone in the other.

He set the chair down next to Father
Christmas, climbed on to it, and held the megaphone in front of Father
Christmas’s mouth.

“My friends.” Father Christmas’s voice
boomed across the courtyard in front of Lapland House. Now, everybody could
hear him.

“As you probably know,” he continued. “I
have the flu. I feel terrible. And Doctor Bilzi has told me I must stay in bed.
But tomorrow night, I should fly around the world to deliver presents to all
the children.”

Father Christmas paused, and let out a
very loud sneeze. Everybody in the courtyard covered their ears, as the sound bounced
off the walls.

“Doctor Bilzi has told me I must cancel
Christmas this year. And that’s what I’ve decided to do.”

A puff of frozen breath rose above the
heads of the crowd, as all the elves in the courtyard gasped. The noise of
excited chatter grew louder and louder. Father Christmas held up his hands for
silence.

“Christmas has gone wrong,” he
continued. “It sends the wrong message to children. It brainwashes them to
become part of the capitalist consumer society. It fuels greed and envy. We all
know that Marx’s dialectical materialism tells us that any attempt to reconcile materialism with
idealism must result in confusion and inconsistency.”

He gestured around the courtyard.

“And that’s what we’ve all done. Even
though we meant well.”

Father Christmas paused to sneeze again,
loudly.

“What’s to become of us?” cried a voice
from the crowd.

“My friends,” Father Christmas held out
his arms in supplication to the crowd. “Don’t worry. I have a new plan. We’ll
start again. I’ll look after you all. Christmas must send a message of
generosity. From today, all children will make presents for each other. We’ll
become the distribution house for their gifts. Every child can give a gift.
Even if it’s the gift of love.”

He shivered, and pulled the duvets
tighter around him.

“And the first thing we’ll do is move
away from Lapland. I’m not spending another winter in this cold and ice.”

“But where will we go?” asked the elf
holding the megaphone.

“We’ll go to South America,” replied
Father Christmas. “It’s much warmer there. And I’ll set up the children’s gifts
exchange there. In the Amazon.”



This is how far we’ve come

Chorus tour of the US Posted on Fri, May 26, 2017 17:34:48

This Is How Far We’ve Come
I’m on tour with the London Gay Men’s Chorus in America. We’ve been in New York. Now we’re in Chicago.

We sang at an elementary school in Chicago today. Two shows.
First to the lower school, then the upper school. With a workshop session in
the middle with the school choir, including choreography.

This is when the London Gay Men’s Chorus is at its most
powerful.

Imagine a gay choir singing in a school twenty years ago?
Probably impossible.

The Alexander Graham Bell Elementary School is an American
public school (state funded) in the North Center neighbourhood of Chicago. It
has around eleven hundred students, ranging from pre-school to Eighth Grade. It celebrates its hundredth birthday this
year.

As soon as we walked into the school on a bright sunny
morning, you could sense it was a happy place. There was clear respect between
students and teachers.

We performed numbers ranging from Sam Cook’s A Change is Going to Come to I
Feel Pretty
from West Side Story and Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Keep it Gay. We opened with I
Sing the Body Electric
, based on Walt Whitman’s beautiful poem. I could see
one of the teachers in the audience mouthing all the words as we sang.

As the lower school filed out after our first performance,
one of the children shouted out “Good job!”

Our chairman is a former student of the school. He made a
powerful speech about being different. There was a roar of applause from the
students as he concluded: “it’s OK to be different”.

I spoke to the music teacher afterwards.

“Did any parents request that their children not attend the
performance today?” I asked naïvely.

“No!” she responded, almost shocked by my question.
“We have a couple of kids with same sex parents here,” she went on. “There
are several gay or lesbian teachers in the school. We’ve come a long way.”

Too right we’ve come a long way. This was the highlight of our tour for me.



A New York Story – Con or Charm?

Chorus tour of the US Posted on Tue, May 23, 2017 17:36:45

A New York Story – Con or Charm?

I got picked up last night, and we went on a date.

Her name is Nicki. She’s seventy-eight years old and she
started chatting me up while we sat waiting in the lobby of the New World
Stages, off Broadway.

But have I been charmed, or conned by a scheming person?

I found Nicki very charming. She said I was charming, which
is charming of her to say. I live near Oxford, and she said she’d
researched at the Pitt Rivers Museum there many years ago. She also knew Cambridge, having
lived in nearby Grantchester with her three young sons in the early seventies.

Her manner was that of a fast-talking, Jewish New Yorker.
But she was born and raised in India. She came to New York when she was ten.

We sat talking for half an hour. About Middle Eastern
culture, on which she’s very knowledgeable. We debated the use of language,
about which she’s very opinionated. As am I.

She’s a fanatical theatre fan. She told me she sees eleven
shows per week. Over five hundred a year. I secretly wondered if that was
really true, or if she was exaggerating.

Then it was time for us to see our respective plays. She was
going to see The Wall and I saw Church and State.

“Why don’t we meet up after, and swap notes?” she asked. “I
know this place where we can get fish tacos for a dollar.”

Sounded interesting, so I agreed.

After the theatre, I got us a taxi and we went down to
Coopers on 8th Avenue for one-dollar fish tacos and beer. We talked
non-stop. I was fascinated by her life. She was interested in mine.

So why should I even think I was conned?

This morning, I went for breakfast in a deli on the corner
of 8th and seventeenth. As I ate my eggs on wheat toast, I Googled Nicki
Cochrane. And up popped her face in an article from last year, with the headline “members of
New York’s theatre community detest her”.

Why?

The article confirmed all she had told me the night before.
That she’s originally from India. That she sees eleven shows a week.

But she’s made
some enemies. Here’s the article, and decide for yourself if she’s a charmer,
or a con artist:

http://observer.com/2016/02/kickstarter-funded-movie-about-theater-loving-woman-doesnt-tell-whole-story/

What do I think?

I’m meeting Nicki at the theatre again this afternoon. She’s one of the most delightful people I’ve met in years.



Day 3 – Why Pride Marches?

Chorus tour of the US Posted on Sat, May 20, 2017 13:33:45

Day 3 – Why Pride Marches?
I’m on tour with the London Gay Men’s Chorus in New York,
getting ready for a joint concert with the New York City Gay Men’s Chorus this
Saturday.

We’ve been to the Stonewall National Monument, close to the
Stonewall Inn. This was the site of the Stonewall rebellion in June 1969, a
turning point in America’s fight for LGBT rights.

When I was growing up, the only significant event in the
summer of 1969 was the first landing on the moon. I was eleven years old, and I
remember watching the contrasty, black and white pictures on our ageing
oak-cased television set.

I knew nothing about the police raid on a sanctuary for gay
men in New York’s Greenwich Village. Police raids on gay bars were frequent in
New York at the time, but the bar owners usually received a police tip-off
before the raid.

On the night of 28 June at the Stonewall Inn, there was no
police tip-off.

And the raid did not go as planned.

Instead of meekly lining up against a wall and handing over
their IDs, patrons refused to cooperate. A crowd gathered outside.

It got angry.

The crowd swelled to five or six hundred, vastly outnumbering
the police.

Ten police officers barricaded themselves inside the
Stonewall Inn for safety.

The crowd chanted, “We shall overcome”. They attacked the
police wagons, and it led to several days of riots in Greenwich Village.

It also triggered a change around the world in the approach
to the campaign for gay rights.

One year later, the first gay Pride march in Greenwich
Village, marked the anniversary of the Stonewall uprising. There were also
marches in Chicago and Los Angeles.

These days, people often ask, why bother with Pride marches
any more?

Then you see pictures of gay men rounded up in Chechnya and
forced into concentration camps. You see pictures of gay men thrown from the
roofs of multi-storey car parks in Syria.

Or two gay men in West London earlier this year, savagely
beaten as they slept on their train back home.

That’s why we still have Pride marches.



Day 2 – A sobering moment

Chorus tour of the US Posted on Fri, May 19, 2017 13:25:19

Day 2 – A sobering moment

I’m on tour with around one hundred members of the London
Gay Men’s Chorus in New York.

Yesterday was our second day in the Big Apple and our first day
of getting down to business, rehearsing for our joint performance with the New
York City Gay Men’s Chorus on Saturday.

We’re doing two other performances here before we move on to
Chicago next week. This evening we’re performing at the British Consulate, but
before that we’re heading for Broadway.

By tomorrow I’ll be able to say I’ve sung on 42nd
Street in New York, New York.

OK, so it’s going to be at Madame Tussauds.

But it’s still Broadway.

Meanwhile, how was the rehearsal?

There are nearly three hundred men in the two Choruses. It’s
been over 30 degrees today (nearly 90 in Fahrenheit) today. At seven o’clock
last night, we were all packed into a large (ish) church hall on Upper East
Side, with two musical directors and a band.

How do you think it went?

As Wallace from Wallace and Gromit might have said: “as well
as can be expected”.

Actually, I think we’re going to blow the socks off our
audience on Saturday. The sound of three hundred male voices singing in close
harmony has enormous power.

To inspire and uplift.

Given everything that’s happening in our world at the
moment, I think we need some inspiring and uplifting.

Earlier in the day, I was humbled by the effect a small
world event had on my life.

I was at the top of number one World Trade Center, when my
cousin in Boston messaged me.

“You OK? Saw an accident in Times Square and thought of you”.

Within moments, other messages from relatives and friends came
in. Then the members of the London chorus began checking round, to see if
everyone was safe.

We were.

I rang my mother to reassure her, and posted a message to
say I was safe.

Thank you to everyone for your thoughts and your concern.

It was a wonderful moment, which illustrated the supportive
global community we can be.



Day 1 – First Impressions of New York

Chorus tour of the US Posted on Wed, May 17, 2017 19:24:36

Day 1 – First Impressions of New York

I’ve arrived! Together with around fifty members of the
London Gay Men’s Chorus, including musical director Simon and pianist Lana, onboard
a British Airways jumbo jet.

“Let’s do the show here!” Once the drinks trolley did a few
rounds, the singing began…

Strangely enough, with fifty gay men onboard, they ran out
of gin.

Hats off to our chairman John for organising this group
flight. Marshalling fifty gay men to America and back has to be like herding
cats.

The New York Gay Men’s Chorus were there to welcome us in
the Arrivals hall, complete with rainbow flags and lots of hugs.

My amazing host David was one of the welcoming committee at
JFK airport from the New York Gay Men’s Chorus. With his years of local
knowledge, I finally know the easy way to get into Manhattan.

We took the AirTrain from the terminal to Jamaica Station,
where we got the E Line through to Chelsea, and 23rd Street.

And first impressions?

It’s hot. 30 degrees (that’s over eighty Fahrenheit for
American readers). And humid. Everyone’s
in their singlets and shorts.

Chelsea is an amazing neighbourhood, straight out of the
movies. Great places to eat all the way up 23rd Street. Beautiful
buildings.

And it’s busy. So busy.

The lobby of David’s apartment building is simply perfectly styled in Art Deco.
Straight out of Poirot. There’s even a garden with the apartment block, a rarity in New York. The elevator is elegantly lined with dark
wood and is to die for.

And the Art Deco apartment …

I am still in heaven.



One day to go – An Art Deco Love Affair

Chorus tour of the US Posted on Tue, May 16, 2017 14:16:28

One day to go – An Art Deco Love Affair
Tomorrow, I’m flying to America with the London Gay Men’s Chorus for a twelve-day tour. We’ll be singing in New York and Chicago.

One of my passions is Art Deco. It’s a period of design which I fell in love with many years ago. I have a good sized collection of glassware, several cocktail shakers, and a few years ago I discovered a bespoke rug maker near Whitney in Oxfordshire. He made me two gorgeous Art Deco rugs for the living room and hallway.

So you can imagine my excitement at the prospect of spending twelve days in New York and Chicago. Two cities rich in Art Deco heritage.

I’m already booked onto an architectural river tour in Chicago, followed by a walking tour. Of course I’ll be visiting Frank Lloyd Wright’s House.

I’ve been to New York many times, so I’ve already been to the Empire State, the Chrysler Building, and the gorgeous Number 1 Wall Street. This time, if there’s time, I want to try to get over to the Bronx to see some of the amazing examples of Art Deco that are lovingly maintained there.

I was talking about this with my host in New York just last night. David lives a couple of blocks away from Greenwich Village, within walking distance of great bars, the Stonewall Memorial and our rehearsal space. I am so lucky to be hosted by him and his charming husband Ammar.

I mentioned my love for Art Deco.

“Oh really?” he said. “This apartment building is Art Deco. The stairwell is spectacular. I always walk down, so I can enjoy it.”

I’m going to be living in an Art Deco apartment on Manhattan for one week!

I am in heaven.



Next »