Dr. Paul Kent Bolton 1960-2026

                                                                                

                                                                      
Earlier in the evening, I encountered a post in my feed on FB regarding someone whom I knew ever so briefly in Denver in the 1990's.  Dr. Paul Kent Bolton died on October 20, 2026, of "a long-standing illness", according to his on/off partner of 10 years.

Paul was someone whom I at first admired from afar at the popular gym on Colorado Blvd. in Denver in the 1990's.  In the fog of time passing and age, I no longer remember how, exactly, when we met or how, but it was at the gym.  He had the kind of body "that would shame Adonis".  And he did have those amazing good looks, the kind that makes one stop and stare.  

We did eventually chat and become friendly.  Nothing more happened between us, but that isn't the point.  He was that kind of handsome man whom one is thrilled to simply meet and get to know, even just a little.  Much like when I met and became friends with Patrick Harlan Byrne back in college.  You know you are never going to have sex with him, but he's hot and he's a nice guy.

I am not sure Paul ever really knew how spectacular he was.  He never acted that way.  In reading his obituary, it confirmed that he had a great singing voice and was counted a fine actor and dancer, as well as wonderful person.  He remained, however, just doing community theater or choral performing.  More than one who knew him remembered his performance in KISS ME KATE as the lead.

He would later maintain a relationship for a few years with Larry Boroff.  I knew Larry thru Dino Gagliasso, my former roommate.  I suppose it's unkind to admit that I never really knew what Paul saw in Larry.  Larry was a nice guy and was my accountant for a time after he broke up with Dino (a painful breakup that really bothered Dino and caused him eventually to lose their Capitol Hill duplex).  I briefly lived with Larry and Dino earlier when they occupied the childhood home of Larry's in Thornton, CO, after I got my first IBM contract job.  

I had no idea how long the contract assignment would last, and they were happy, for a while, with the rent money I paid each month, as well as the groceries I contributed.  The house itself needed a whole lot of work, and I lived in one spare bedroom that did not even have a door.  But at some point, Larry got tired of my living with them; and I had to find an apartment in Denver instead.

When I started working out at the gym on Colorado Blvd., I met Paul.  

I would base a minor character in A MILE-HIGH SAGA upon Paul.  He was the physically attractive man whom the Greg character meets and, very briefly, dates.  But that Paul character could not accept being with someone who could read minds, and their dinner date was the last of their encounters in the novel.

Unlike the characters in the novel, I did remain distant acquaintances with Paul after that.  We later became friends on FB, so I would get some of his posts over the years.  He clearly did not live long enough to see the Democrats win the midterm elections this November.  Paul may have been born and raised a Christian in Wichita, KS; but he was thoroughly liberal in his politics.

He must have married, and divorced, before he came to Denver because he is survived by three sons. 

When an obit says "long-standing illness", it was either cancer or HIV.  Neither of which ought to be a mystery or stigma in today's world.  But I guess HIV still is.       

He was one of those rare, amazingly good-looking individuals who was also warm and friendly.  Larry Boroff died a few years ago, much too young himself.  And now at 66, Paul is gone, as well.  I am so deeply reminded of those many men of my era who are gone now who never even reached the age of 70, let alone 77.  

The 1950's

From 1954 until June of 1958, dad, Ann and I lived at 13222 Foxley Drive in Whittier, CA.  (Mom lived there from 1954 until some year before 1958, possibly 1957.)  Our brand-new house is preserved in the photo above, likely taken shortly after we moved in during the late spring or early summer of 1954.  Unlike our previous house on Broadway in Santa Ana, which was built and occupied by others before we lived there, nobody else had lived in the Foxley house.  Most, if not all, of the 22 houses on our long cul-de-sac, were new and previously unoccupied.  Most of those living on Foxley at that time were families much like ours:  the husband worked at a regular job during the day, and his spouse was a housewife who remained at home, keeping the house tidy and the 2-3 kids neat and clean.  Dad worked in a local Fuller Paint Store; Mr. Tipton across the street worked for the Whittier Sheriff's Department; Mr. Hofeldt next door designed dams to tame and exploit wild Western rivers for electricity. 

Most of our fathers were military veterans of WWII.  In retrospect, I believe that all of us families had lived elsewhere before finally being able to afford a new tract home in the suburbs because there were few infants among us kids living on Foxley.  We were all already attending public schools, or about to within a few months, or in a year or two.  We were all part of the human crop referred to later as Baby Boomers, born in the 1940's or 1950's, after the War ended, the parents married, and the wives began giving birth to us.  

The end of World War II was now nearly a decade ago.  The Korean War was also over.  War Hero Eisenhower, a Republican, was ensconced in the White House, the McCarthy Era was almost at an end with his condemnation by the Senate in December of 1954.  But the politics of those troubled times were not visited upon us children that I can recall.  The only time I recall our parents and politics would have been in November of 1956.  I remember that Ann and I sat before our B&W TV, watching, but not much comprehending, the early Presidential election returns.  Mom and Dad were just returning, all dressed up, from having cast their California ballots.  I remember asking if they had voted for Eisenhower, presuming that that is what one did:  vote for the familiar, incumbent leader.  Oddly, neither of them would say, dismissing our inquiry as if one did not ever talk about how one voted.  (Since both were pretty much life-long Republicans, they must have voted for Ike.  Perhaps it was the still-suspicious nature of the times that one best kept one's electoral choices to oneself.)      

While my memories of our time on Broadway in Santa Ana remain mostly confined to black & white photos (except for attending the memorial service of a young girl about our own age who had died of Diabetes), I have a stockpile of vivid memories of our lives on Foxley, though several are also confined to photos taken by mom.  She had a black. clamshell Kodak camera that might have been characterized today as compact.  The user had to rotate the lens mechanism counterclockwise, snap it into place, and then take a picture.  But if the user failed to entirely click the lens into place, the developed photograph had black corners like the image above.    

I have recounted elsewhere about the evening that I, at least, was driven by the parents to this new home.  I was put to bed in the bedroom that I shared with Ann (her official name was Georgann but she never liked that).  The bedroom door was left ajar so that light from the hallway streamed into our room, and we could more easily find out way to the hall bathroom.  (There was a half bath with a shower, sink and toilet in the opposite back corner of the house from our bedroom with a family room/den in between.)   

 I must admit that I have no memory of bedwetting in Santa Ana.  But at some point, I eventually caused consternation with the parents when I frequently wet the bed when we lived in this house in Whittier.  Most of the time, I did so entirely unaware and slept through the night only to awaken with soaked sheets and pajamas.  On a few occasions, I would awaken and make my way to the bathroom.  Sometimes, I would be afraid of monsters in the hallway and simply wet myself, too afraid of those monsters.   I cannot even recall when the bedwetting started or exactly when it stopped before we moved from Whittier in 1958.

Sadly, while other families would experience marriage issues and, eventually, divorce, we were the first to do so.  Mom had been there when one morning she found a mouse in a loaf of bread in the bread drawer in the kitchen and ran screaming onto the driveway while dad had been talking to Mr. Hofeldt next door.  (He took a shovel and smashed the mouse and the remaining slices of bread, flat.)  Mom was there for the earliest Halloweens and Christmases (when she made Rice Chrispie treats to give out in this more trusting and earlier time).  Eventually, she was gone and we had a series of three or four housekeepers, and finally my Grandmother Sanchez arrived, totally unprepared to take care of young children.  

Mom was there when I started Kindergarten at Laural Elementary School in the fall of 1954, along with several other kids on our block.  She brought Ann with her one time and Ann knocked something over in the playhouse, letting out an embarrassing wail even though she was not injured.  But when she was first no longer there, I don't remember.  But I do recall the night of turmoil when she surprisingly returned, getting into a loud row with the current housekeeper, whom I liked, and expelling her from the house.  Soon enough, mom was gone again.  But when that was, I do not recall.  But she was not living with us when the other housekeepers occupied the family room, nor when Grandma Sanchez moved in.   
But mom was there in the summer of 1956 when she, Ann and I were taken by dad to Union Station in LA to board a Santa Fe train (The El Capitan one way and the Super Chief the other way) for Kansas City and, soon, White Cloud to see her mother and her sister Doris and her family.  In retrospect, I believe the marriage was already on the rocks.  Perhaps the trip was to get away for a time and she how she felt when we returned.  Or perhaps she wanted advice or support from her mother, Gladys Breeze, as to what she ought to do.  

Only years later, from Ann and my late Aunt, Norma Jean, did I learn that mom had been bored in the marriage.  She did not want to be a housewife.  She had worked in a Bank of America in Hollywood in the 1940's, during and soon after the war.  She had enjoyed being the wife of an Air Force Captain, living on military bases in Washington State, Florida, Georgia and California, likely playing bridge with the other wives or playing golf on base courses, attending parties at the Officer Clubs.  But in Santa Ana and Whittier, she stayed at home, likely bored silly.  Dad was no longer in the active-duty military since he got out to avoid the Korean War after having been a bombardier POW in Germany in the last months of that war.  He was always going to be working in paint and wallpaper stores for the rest of his life, not something mom was looking forward to.

Halloween

We experienced an innocence in the 1950's.  At school, teachers would put up cutout images of Jack O Lanterns, black cats and witches on broomsticks in our classrooms.  Students dressed up in costumes for the day and paraded through all of the other classrooms, with each visited class joining the end of the Halloween parade throughout Laural Elementary School.  

One year, a boy who lived on Foxley Drive peer-pressured me into not wearing my rabbit costume that year.  Overnight I thought he must be bluffing so I showed up at the corner bus stop in costume.  When he appeared, he shamed me into returning home to change into my regular school clothes.  I supposed he imagined that at 8 or 9 years old, we were too old to be participating in such childish nonsense.  (I believe we were two of the very few kids at Laural who defiantly paraded through classroom after classroom in our regular Levi's and shirts.)  

Homes were not decorated for Halloween, unlike today.  But we Trick or Treaters would be guaranteed to get candy at any home we visited.  If the owners forgot to buy candy or ran out, you might get a penny, a form of currency that meant something in that less-expensive era to us kids.  Our mom, at least one year that I recall, made marshmallow and Rice Chrispy treats and gave them out wrapped in waxed paper.  No mom could get away with homemade treats these days, handed out to kids they do not know.  Our mom's tasted great, but after incidents or toxic treats over the decades, suspicions would lead any mother to toss out anything homemade.

Many of us still used an old pillowcase to receive the treats or coins.  If the bag got too heavy, one year I remember returning home and dumping the contents onto my bed before venturing out once again.  I got quite a haul that time.  

One year, mom, Mrs. Sylvia Tipton (mother of Tommy and Cynthia across the street), and Mrs. Hofeldt (mother of Pam and Carol next door) hosted a Halloween party in our garage for many of the children in the neighborhood.  If you look carefully, the three moms are also dreessed up for the holiday.
                                                                            

Andesen's Pea Soup Restaurant

 

For several years after our Uncle Lloyd died, my sister Ann and I would drive our Aunt Jean to the San Juaquin Valley National Cemetery near Santa Nella, CA, on Memorial Day weekend.  (A few times it was just me when Ann could not make it).  Aunt Jean wanted to attend the memorial services conducted by the VA each year because her husband had been buried there in 2008, while her son, our cousin Doug, was buried there, five years earlier, in 2003.  Both had died of cancer, and both were military veterans, Lloyd in the Army in WWII, and Doug in the Air Force in the 1960's (he was stationed at Elmendorf AFB in Alaska after training at Lackland and did not have to serve in Vietnam).

Doug chose that particular VA cemetery primarily because it was such a beautiful location but also because the VA cemetery close by his parents' home in Fairfield, CA, had not yet been created.  

I had attended the funeral services of both Lloyd and Doug, but their internment in the Valley cemetery did not occur for several more days after.  I would have to fly home to Colorado rather than remain in Northern California for the better part of a week.

It was only during our first drive, taking Aunt Jean to the Valley cemetery, likely in 2009 or 2010, that I got to see the grave sites of Doug and Lloyd.  Aunt Jean would always prepare these green plastic cones with metal spikes to leave artificial flowers and small American flags at the headstones of each of them.  

                                                                    

She would also place a small flag at each of the headstones of a few other men and women whom she and Lloyd were friends with, those who were also veterans or married to veterans of Lloyd's old WWII Army unit, the 101st Airborne.  Each year we'd have to track those other headstones down because they were not as easy to find among so many regular graves, or those whose ash-filled urns had been interred when they decided to be cremated instead.  

Volunteers would often have placed flags at the headstones of many veterans who likely had no more living relatives to honor them, or whose remaining relatives did not make the trek to this Central Valley site.

The drive from Fairfield to Santa Nella was typically at least two hours, with a rest stop along the way, not far from the intersection of Interstates 5 and 580.  I would wait until we arrived at the cemetery and use the restroom there at the Visitor's Center.

After the Memorial Services below the Visitor's Center, and then the placing of the flowers and flags which Aunt Jean had provided, we'd head up to the large hill above the complex.  Often we'd take photos and admire the view and locate the graves of Lloyd and Doug.  The top photo is of me and Mark on the overlook.  He began to go with us in 2014, after we had been dating for nearly two years.  Ann always got the bed in the main guest room of Aunt Jean's house while Jean put Mark and I into the twin beds in the other room at the top of stairs.  

Mark had immediately been accepted into the family by everyone.  

The first time I attended the services near Santa Nella, it was atypically overcast and sprinkled on us during the ceremonies.  In subsequent years, the staff erected a canopy under which we attendees sat on unfolded metal chairs because it was usually an extremely hot, sunny day in the Central Valley with no cloud in sight.  

Aunt Jean would always require us to sit in the front row as we gazed across the rippling water of the cement pond where the ceremonies were being held, the unit VA flags were being furled and unfurled, and the several dignitaries gave their speeches.  (You could always tell when it was an election year because many more local politicians were present, to use the solemn occasion to honor the dead with their own prepared speeches.  "Freedom is not free." managed to make its way into most of their cliche-burdened orations.  The services tended to drag at that point as local politician after local politician chimed in, to remind voters who they were.)  

Being forced to sit for an extended time in that front row, while my head, arms and torso would remain out of the intense sunlight, my bare legs were often sunburned at the end no matter how much lotion I slathered on them.

There was always the welcome acknowledgement of those of us veterans who had also served but were still among the living.  We would be asked to stand as our specific branch of service was called out.  Mark had been in the Navy while I had, of course, been in the Air Force.  I would still proudly stand when we Air Force vets were called upon, remembering the humiliation of 1979 all over again but standing defiantly all these years later.  

Aunt Jean had been an Army nurse stationed in Palm Springs where she met a wounded vet named Lloyd Green late in the war.  She soon got pregnant with Doug and was mustered out.  She and Lloyd were married in 1947 and spent time back in Oklahoma where Lloyd was born and raised, as well as in Texas, before they decided to permanently move to Northern California.   

On the overlook, when we were done taking pictures and admiring the view as the massive American flag waved above us in the inevitable breeze, we would get back into Aunt Jean's Buick and drive to the Andersen's Split Pea Soup Restaurant on the opposite side of the freeway from the cemetery.  It was often crowded from the many who had attended the services at the cemetery earlier, but we usually never had to wait long.  The lobby always had plenty of distractions with post cards and nick knacks and pastries under glass.

Except for one year when Andersen's was way too crowded and we ate at the local Denny's, and other year when Ann was not with us, but Lloyd's youngest brother and his wife were visiting and wanted to see his brother's grave, we ate at Andersen's.  It was a ritual we valued because, after the long drive and the ceremonies, we were hungry and the food was always good.  This gave us the time to chat with Aunt Jean and one another and unwind.  To this day I remember the tables we sat at and what I ordered.  

Aunt Jean died on March 13, 2017, at the age of 94.  Mark and I had driven her to the cemetery the year before and eaten with her at Andersen's, but now those yearly visits were no longer required.  However, Mark, Ann and I drove up the Central Valley on Memorial weekend, to pay our final respects.  As we passed by the site of Andersen's Pea Soup restaurant, we were saddened to see that it was closed and abandoned, much like the photo below.

                                                                              

I have a memory of Mark and I sitting across from one another in a booth at Andersen's.  Aunt Jean had died and I knew that we would never spend another meal with her there ever again.  I gazed across the room at a table where we had sat together for a meal there some years before and became choked up.  It was one of those times when a person becomes so brutally aware of the passage of time and of our mortality.  

I believe that Ann had acquired the two flags that we placed on the familiar headstone that now included our favorite aunt whom we missed so terribly.

                                                                            

Here are Ann and Mark as we three trudged toward Doug's grave.

                                                                               

Later that day we drove on toward Vallejo, to take the ferry as we had once done with Aunt Jean, to San Francisco.  

We have not been back to the San Joaquin Valley National Cemetery near Santa Nella since 2017.  It may only be a couple of hours drive from Fairfield, but it's many more, long, tedious driving hours from Indio, CA.  I have no way to know for sure, but Uncle Lloyd's brother "Skeet" and his wife have likely passed on.  His older brother passed a few years after Lloyd.  Doug's two boys never went with Aunt Jean and us to the cemetery, and they had become estranged from her after Lloyd died.  The house in Fairfield was sold soon after she died, and she had had an estate sale after she moved into an assisted living complex not far away.  I bought her set of China, as well as was given her ceramic Christmas tree and glass pumpkin candy container that I always admired.  Other family members either bought or were given the rest of her and Lloyd's more memorable possessions, now scattered to the winds.     

I read the other day, when I swiped that photo of the abandoned Andersen's, that the building will soon be demolished.  I became profoundly saddened all over again.  

    

 

 

5th Annual QCon Saturday, 20 June, Plummer Park, West Hollywood

                                                                       

                                                                                  

                                                                                 

Mark and I bought an electric vehicle, a VW ID-4, considered used even though it only had 53 miles on it since it was being used as a display for VW since it was built in 2021.  The price was too good to be true, so we traded in our Tiguan.  Knowing that the space-age Tesla Diner was built in West Hollywood, along Santa Monica Blvd, we knew, with an adapter, we could recharge the vehicle there while having breakfast as we waited. 

Above are photos I took as we waited for the ID-4 to recharge, which did not take that long.

The food was fine, breakfast tacos and Avocado toast.  Mark had his usual Latte while I had a purple lemonade.  In the parking lot, at the main and secondary charging lots,  Teslas were everywhere.  We were the lone non-Tesla there.   The entire experience felt like Tomorrowland at Disneyland.  

We later set up the RAoF table in the main hall.  Here Mark waits for the starting of the convention.

                                                                          

As with WonderCon in late March, Mark and I had a fantastic time, meeting so many interesting attendees.  Sold and gave away so many books yet again.  

First time wearing my hearing aids to QCon.  But the music was fairly loud for most of the day, so I still had trouble hearing some of those we chatted with.  The staff and volunteers were helpful as usual.  Mark and I still savor our award from a few years ago when we came in second in the cosplay contest, wearing FORBIDDEN PLANET uniforms.  

Thanks again to all of those who stopped by to check out the Rainbow Arc of Fire series.  Once more, the entire series is available as digital downloads or print-on-demand copies on amazon.com.  

Elsewhere on my blog are passages from the several novels and information regarding how and why I wrote the series and, of course, many events and instances that impact my life and the lives of all of you who attended QCon.  Our rights are still not secure.  And there are still way too many who cannot seem to tolerate us being ourselves, whatever form or method we choose to take.  And, as anyone who has been to any comic book convention knows, all who cosplay are not necessarily LGBTQ+.  

I hope all who bought or received RAoF novels enjoy the books.  Any who decide to purchase one or more of the novels online from amazon also enjoy my humble efforts.  

I tried with every new addition to the series to try something different with, primarily, the same cast of characters.  Whether I failed or succeeded, that's entirely up to the reader.  I tried only to be true to the characters and their missions as their varied adventures emerged.    

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QCon 2026 in West Hollywood this Saturday 11:00 AM to 6:00 PM

 Rainbow Arc of Fire will have our table in the same location as the past four years.  In the immediate right-hand corner of the main hall.

This will be our fifth year at QCon.  (We were there at the inaugural convention.)  

                                                                              

Mike and I

We sat, one behind the other, in Ivan Evans's English class in the 9th grade at South Gate Junior High School in the Spring of 1964.  Mike remembers that our teacher somehow thought that I was from Cuba.  Mike thought that was interesting.  Perhaps it was my Hispanic last name or that I was born in Florida.  However, Mike and I did not become either familiar or friendly in junior high.

When I started high school, I found myself standing outside of the gym building with Richard Meyers, someone I did not previously know.  We chatted even though we both were likely supposed to be inside the gym, attending a mandatory gym class.  Richard was very soon able to enroll in the Corrective Gym class.  That class was designed for those who were not physically gifted, fit or hunky.  In short, geeky guys.  The instructor, Mr. Self, would make his students use free weights and rope climbs and whatever else it would take to build up the muscles and frames of the skinny guys, or take weight off of the fat guys, and make them all look more fit.  Each of his students typically got an "A". 

I was only able to join Corrective Gyn at a later date, having to put up with regular gym class for several months.  

But my encounter with Richard Meyers that morning led me to his small circle of friends which included Mike Mebs and Richard Wright.  They would gather at lunch and talk.  I was soon part of that trio.  We thought many of our fellow students were Neanderthals, that seemed to be one of the major reasons we hung out together.  What many of our fellow students thought of us, if they gave us any thought at all, we did not really care?  Many of them were joiners and participators.  We were not.  

One Saturday, Mike invited me over to his house.  I am not exactly sure what we did that day, but as he lived on Washington St., on the eastern end of South Gate, and I lived over on Cypress, on the western end of town, it was an effort to get back and forth.  I might have walked all of the way--I was quite a walker in those days.  Or I could have taken the bus.

Richard Meyers might have been the leader of our small band, but he was never the kind of friend to invite any of us over to his house in the un-incorporated area of Cudahy, immediately north of South Gate where he, his mother, his grandmother and his dog, Ginger, lived.  (He actually lived much closer to me than Mike did, but it was made clear from early on that the rest of us were never going to be invited over to his house.  So, Mike and I became those kinds of friends.)

We went on our Grad Night to Disneyland together.  Mike took my sister.  I took a friend of hers.  We attended East LA Junior College together, though not always in all of the same classes.  We similarly transferred to Cal State Dominguez Hills, graduating at the same time in December of 1971.  He worked in a sock warehouse in downtown LA for Lily Butler during college.  I worked in a wallpaper warehouse on the edge of LA, off of Santa Fe and under the shadow of the Santa Monica Freeway.

With the money we earned working full time in summers and part time during the school years, we eventually made our car payments, and paid for gas and sometimes food while still living at home, took airline flights out of LAX, primarily to San Diego because it was cheaper, and took a couple of flights to San Francisco where we hiked all over the city, and then across the Golden Gate Bridge and back, finally ending up at the Downtown Airline Terminal for the bus ride back to the airport. 

I was his best man when he married Lida whom we both met at East LA.  He had two kids with Lida.  And then my mom and I visited them in Tucson, AZ, where he was attending college at the U of A.  It had been many months earlier that Mike finally realized that, like me, he was gay.  During one evening of our visit, Mom made some random, fateful, stupid comment to Lida when Mike and I went out one evening to the effect that, "I hope he [me] doesn't make Mike take him to some gay bar."  A light came on in Lida's head when she awakened to the fact that her husband just might be gay.  They would eventually divorce.  We still talk about how clueless Mom was to say something like that.

I met Mike's first partner, Walt, who would eventually die of AIDS in 1995 before the cocktails would become widely available.  I eventually met his current partner, Alex, years ago.  

It's safe to say that we have travelled a long path together as friends.  From our early teen years to old age, our friendship has persevered.   

Now, unfortunately, our frailties and ages are catching up to us.  Mike is one month younger than I, born in October of 1949.  I have a younger sister while he has a younger sister and brother, but we are both now 76, going on 77 soon enough. 

We share diverticulosis and diverticulitis, acid reflux, prostate issues--he now has been told he has prostate cancer.  We've both had hernia surgery, him in college and me double hernia surgery in the late 1990's.

While we both supported Richard Nixon for President in 1968, that ended as soon as we realized he was not going to end the Vietnam War any time soon after he was elected.  His "secret plan" to end the War was Vietnamization, something Lyndon Johnson seemed to be doing toward the end of his doomed presidency.

It was soon that Mike's path and mine diverged because of Nixon's draft lottery.  I got 119; but Mike was 325, way too high to be concerned about the draft.  I eventually went off to the Marine Corps' OCS in 1972, and then the Air Force's OTS in 1973, while he graduated from a Teacher Certification program at the U of A in the 1980's, divorced Lida, met Walt, and I helped the two of them move to Southern California, into an apartment building at the eastern edge of South Gate, not far from his parent's house where he grew up.

We now hope merely to outlive the selfish, egotistical monster in the White House and experience peaceful deaths.  With so many ailments, who knows what will eventually carry us off?  We talk about the past, the '60's, our shared experiences from the past and the present.  (He and Alex once lived in the same desert community in CA that Mark and I moved to, where my sister also lives; but then his daughter and son-in-law talked him into moving to Phoenix to be near them, and we only spent about a year living nearby one another as we had in the 1960's.)   

We yell a lot on the phone and bemoan the state of the nation at least weekly.  Soon after we were born, the Korean War began which neither of us remembers in our separate childhoods.  The Cold War endured for most of our youth, hence the military draft and the Vietnam War.  Then we experienced the Reagan adventures abroad, Bush Sr.'s Gulf War, Bush Jr.'s Iraq and Afghanistan Wars, now this useless Iran War.  We have experienced idealized versions of the 1950's and 1960's in the distant.  Our high school was so peacefully integrated that it seemed almost to go unnoticed.

All of our grandparents died long ago.  Then the parents and uncles and aunts departed the stage.  Waves of our television, music and movie idols have passed on and more continue to do so.  We have no idea how long each of us has.  Which one will outlive the other, or will we go at relatively the same age?  In five years?  Ten?  Longer than that?  His mother died at 94.  My maternal Aunt Jean and Grandpa Sanchez died at 94.  

Both now retired, we live day to day.  

  

Ralph Story's A.M. February 1971, and beyond

I would graduate from Cal State Dominguez Hills in December of 1971.  I was still working at A.U. Morse & Company near downtown L.A.  Even before graduation, I would have to decide what to do with my life.  But at the same time, I had to deal with mandatory military service.  My draft lottery number was 119, and I was only exempt for a short time before I graduated from college.

Before graduation, in the Fall of 1971, I did enlist in the Marine Corps Reserve, to begin with training at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego after graduation.  That would keep me out of service until I left college.  (I would normally have graduated in June of 1971; but two course I took at East L.A. Junior College worth 8 units did not count and I had to take additional classes to get enough units to get my degree.)

I met Mark Lombardo that fall who had returned from Marine OCS in the summer of 1971, to graduate in December and then serve as a Marine officer.  He talked me into switching from the Marine Corps Reserve to OCS in the Spring of 1972.  Marine combat units had been withdrawn from Vietnam in 1971.  By becoming a member of the Marine Corps, I would not have to serve in that costly and, ultimately, futile war.  Those I had met in college such as Daylin Butler,rimarily at East L.A., and Pay Byrne at Dominguez Hills advised that I not serve in Vietnam, both of whom had been in Vietnam with the Marines as enlistedmen.  It would be a waste of my life for no appreciable reason to go to Vietnam. 

When I was able, I would watch Ralph Story's A.M. in the mornings before classes at Dominguez Hills.  Host Ralph Story, a TV legend in LA, and his co-host Stephanie Edwards conducted a wide range of features and guests.  Authors with new books to peddle or devices such as the Velobind process of self-publishing or recipes for healthy food choices were offered each morning.  When I was fired from A.U. Morse and got a job as a security guard, I would definitely be able to watch the show in the mornings. 

All of these years later, I watch Morning Joe that offers heavy doses of politics but also other choices such as new books to buy and read.  

In 1971-3, I was making career decisions, impacted heavily by the looming military draft.  Had I not had to worry about the Vietnam War and being drafted by the Army, I might have had the freedom to think of different career directions.  Perhaps I could have remained in college, gotten a Master's Degree, graduated and found a job teaching at a community college.  I never would have attended Marine OCS or Ai Force OTS, been stationed at Minot AFB and the Air Force Academy.  Never would have moved to North Dakota or Colorado.  (After I returned from OCS, I did apply to TWA and Continental Airlines when men could then be hired as flight attendants, but I was rejected by both.)  

Now I am back, living in California after so many years away.  I'm retired, yet attempting to figure out what to do with however many years I have remaining.  I have applied to teach at our local community college but have been rejected both times.

Recurring Dream

I periodically experience a recurring dream, with variations.  I am back inside the former IBM site outside of Boulder, CO, on the Diagonal Highway.  It's time to leavefor the day, but I cannot find my way out.  No matter which direction I walk, I am unable to leave the building. 

This time, I cannot find my wallet or car keys.  After walking down stairs and finding an exit in the basement, I am able to exit the building this time but know that I have no keys (which is odd because, if I did not have them in the first place, how was I able to drive to work at the IBM site).  And, once out of the building, I also cannot find my car in the relatively empty lot.  Obviously, without car keys, how could I start my car if I fdid ind it and drive home?

I believe I may have had similar dreams, years ago, when I was forced to resign from the Air Force.  This is quite similar.  I did not want to go, hence I cannot leave.  Of course, financially this whole situation is troubling because I am poorly off monetarily because I did not have a retirement to deal with my force resignation.  In 1979 (with the Air Force) and 2023 (with IBM).

Q-Con West Hollywood June 20, 2026, 11 AM - 6 PM

                                                                                  

Prism Comics is pleased to announce their 5th Annual Q CON LGBTQIA+ COMIC CONVENTION celebrating LGBTQIA+ comic books, graphic novels and cosplay pride! 

Q CON LGBTQIA+ COMIC CONVENTION

Saturday, June 20, 2026

11 am - 6 pm

Fiesta Hall in Plummer Park

7377 Santa Monica Blvd., West Hollywood

Free admission

Family friendly

We’re thrilled to have a fabulous lineup of over 100 creators, cosplayers and talented performers including Richard Fairgray (Four-Color Heroes), Maia Kobabe (Gender Queer, Opting Out), Lee Knox Ostertag (The Witch Boy, The Deep Dark), Joe Phillips (animator, illustrator), ND Stevenson (Nimona, Scarlet Morning), Jen Wang (The Prince and the Dressmaker, Ash’s Cabin), Nicole Maines (Suicide Squad, Supergirl), Rex Ogle (Fruitcake, Dan of Green Gables), Ed Luce (Wuvable Oaf), Josh Trujillo (Washington’s Gay General), Shannon Watters (Hollow, Lumberjanes), Jim McCann (The Other/Half), Kendra Wells (Real Hero Sh*t), Sonya Saturday (J.K. Rowling and the Ungrateful Fans), Sam Irvin (Captain Samouflage and the Frankensam Scam!), Qweerty Gamers, Jasmine Walls (Brooms) and many more. There will also be a cosplay contest, panel presentations, and portfolio review for aspiring comics creators.

Q Con is free and family friendly for all ages.

Register for free tickets - https://www.eventbrite.com/e/q-con-2026-southern-californias-only-lgbtqia-comic-convention-tickets-1980431535033

Or get free tickets at the door

Prism Comics thanks our sponsors for their generous support – Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, The City of West Hollywood, Modern Fanatic, Oni Press, Los Angeles Film School, IDW Comics & Entertainment and Top Shelf.

WonderCon 2026 March 27-29

 

For no obvious reason, our table was now on the second row back, one section over from where we were placed for the past three years straight.  (We even had a couple people stop by and say that they thought we were not here this year when they did not see us in our usual space.)  We did not get the traffic we previously got, but we actually sold more books than the past few years.

The staff allowed us early arrivers to pull into the hall itself to unload our vehicles and set up our tables (above).  Here is Mark, standing proudly before our new VW ID-4.  It was technically a used vehicle from 2021; however, it had but 53 miles on it when we bought it just a few days before and paid less than half what a new ID-4 cost  This was our first long trip.  We decided on the second day to Valet park it because they would charge it while they kept it.  They might have tried to charge it, but when the Con was over and we loaded it up for the drive back home, iD-4 was only at the same charge as it was when we turned it over to them.  I wanted to get out of town, so we took off without complaining and stopped East of Riverside to recharge at a Wallmart station. 

                                                                               

The ride was smooth both ways, and we fell in love with the vehicle, especially since Trump's Iran war caused the price of gas to skyrocket.  It was a new feeling to not even think about stopping for gas at a gas station.

                                                                                   

Here was one view from behind our table.  But the direct line points to the fellow from Arizona who had the table beside us for the previous three years.  
                                                                                   

We had a fellow and a female friend stop by the table.  They had created a 3D film that was a send up of those from the 1950's called SCORPIAN.  They took our picture, but Mark has a terrible time with flash photos and always closes his eyes.  I thought this was a good photo of me, so I am posting it here.

The following is a much better photo of Mark, on our second day.
                                                                                

The following is a photo of a fellow who I corralled the first day of the Con because he was wearing a FORBIDDEN PLANET uniform.  He took a photo of us which I have yet to find.  But here he is wearing a Captain America WWII uniform.  He bought all of the books in the series except, of course, the two we give away for free.

                                                                                 

Another woman bought three books in the series and also ot the other two free volumes.  Another young fellow showed up with a copy of Volume 6 in the series which he said was given to him by his Grandmother who must have collected the whole series when I was giving the first eight away at the Palm Springs Comic Con years before.  He bought the last two volumes in the series. 

 Hilton had remodeled the main restaurant which we did not enjoy and only had our first breakfast there.  Their Market Place was way over priced.  We were also given a room on the 5th floor, which seemed to be the party floor for drunks.  Never again.  We had no view out the window.  Mark got cornered near the parking garage and almost forced to give the three large men who surrounded him $25.  They tried to steal credit card info to charge even more but Mark was quick to pull his wallet back in time.  He reported his situation to the Heoel staff because he was not the only person so scammed.  

Otherwise, we had an enjoyable Con, meeting new folks and again seeing those we have known from before.  Next will be Q Con in June in West Hollywood.  

Eclipse

Chapter One

We were weakened by all of the hatred, as if like the sun's rays during an eclipse. 

While we tried to fight back, not fully knowing what sort of  threat we faced, not from the stars or other planets but from our own backyards, our abilities were dimmed by degrees.  Soon they were all but gone.

The Gods and Goddesses faded into seclusion, as they have done in the past.

 

Solitaire & Songs from long ago

Mark is sound asleep at the other end of the house.  Our seven rescue cats are scattered about, also sleeping soundly in their comforting places.  

I sit at my failing desk-top computer,.playing Greenfelt solitaire, with Youtube cycling on another tab, remembering the several broken and mended pieces of my distant past, places and people who come to life and reopen an individual space in my memory..

Often but not always I have my relatively new hearing aids in place for greater clarity, revealing notes and tones in each segment of recollection that I had once anticipated before age and loud noises robbed me of certain highs and ranges.  (I am almost certain a specific B-52's concert to the South of Denver was the culprit in giving me this constant ringing that the hearing aids somewhat mask.)

I mostly type now with one hand, the laft still unrecovered from the break in September that hours of recent therapy have not yet restored.  Just another infirmity that time has added to the acid reflux, the diverticulosos, the treated skin cancer, ED, the hearing loss, the left knee that infrequently reminds of the steep ski slope of the Pike's Peak Resort when Gary and his two buddies left me to make my own way down to the lodge.

We make do with what we have left, as Beethoven continued to compose though he was totally deaf.    

"Help Me" by Joni Mitchell.  1974.

I am in one of the Air Force's old WWII-era barracks at Vandenberg AFB.  I'd spent the previous couple of months at Minot before my missile training slot opened up.  A buddy and I had driven my 1973 Chevy Camero to The Warehouse, a retail location for audio equipment several miles north of the base,  We'd removed the back seat earlier in the day for more room to pack in eight Advent speakers, four for each of us  We did not want to make two trips.

We were going to need to keep the boxes to ship them to our respective missile bases.  He might have been headed to Whiteman AFB.  I had not used my free Air Force household goods.shipment yet.  I had already hauled my cases of books and record albums my mom's rental house in San Pedro to my Bachelor Officer's Quarters (BOQ) room so most of my wordly possessions would ship from Vandenberg to Minot.  The rest would fit into the Camero for the drive to Minot (I had flown to Minot on January 3rd, 1974, leaving the Camero behind with mom.) 

Despite the incredibly tight fit, the two of us had gotten all eight Advent speakers in their boxes into the Camero and back to Vandenberg.  

I don't recall if I had unpaced all four speakers or just two to connect to a used Marantz receiver, to see how they sounded.  I had already bought a recommended turntable, based on a review from THE ABSOLUTE SOUND audio magazine.  As with much else in that era, the offered an alternative impressions to the mainstream publications such as STEREO REVIEW.              
 

I had dug through the boxes of albums to find Mitchell's COURT AND SPARK.  "Help Me" seemed to be a pleasantly sonic challenge to test drive the Advents.  I was not disappointed.    

 "Making Love" by Roberta Flack.  1982.

This was an entirely different time and place.  I had been out of the service for several years. still living in my house in Colorado Springs.  Lindsey Barton "Bart" Keeling was my friend.  We must have seen the film MAKING LOVE at a local theater.  I was at the local INDEPENDENT RECORDS store and bought each of us a copy of the 45rpm theme. 

By the end of the decade, Bart had moved to Palm Springs.  He'd been a good friend whom I missed.  I was able to visit him only once.  A few years later, a mutual friend told me outside the gym on Colorado Blvd. in Denver where I was then living that Bart had decided to stop taking his HIV meds, quickly deteriorated, and died that January of 2003.  

We'd only hooked up once when we first met, rather awkwardly.  We became good friends instead.  The lines have always reminded me of Bart, "And I'll remember you...."  I cannot here the song without being reminded of someone whose frienship helped me to cope with being alone and out of the service.  

"Lotta Love" Nicolette Larson.  1978-9

This song always reminds me of my year and a half at the Air Force Academy.  Bright, breezy, assertive yet poignant.  The most wonderful time in my life until I met Mark.  But unlike then, it collapsed into thr worst time in my life, one when I alost did not want to servive.  When your most beloved career is crushed by betrayal and deceit, you never entirely recover.

"Make It With You" Bread.  1970.

Of all of the driving-to-San-Diego  songs from the Summer of 1970, this is the one that stands out the most.  I cannot help but think of those years when Mike and I were young and in college and not quite on the verge of being drafted.     

"No Night So Long" Dionne Warwick.  1980.